


Our War

by DemonsDaughter



Series: Gestalts and Trines [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gestalt (Transformers), M/M, Master/Pet, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Past Abuse, Pet Play, Prisoner of War, Recovery, Smut, Sparklings, Sticky Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1562909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonsDaughter/pseuds/DemonsDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war against Autobot and Decepticon has finally come to an end on Earth and the Decepticons have lost. Onslaught and his Combaticon gestalt become prisoners and find themselves reliving their pasts and making new futures</p><p>~ Smut and stickiness will begin in chapter 6 ~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Present ~ The Combaticons

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story of all the Conbaticons from their very beginnings up to the present. I want this fanfiction to be long and explore the possibilities these mechs offer in terms of their pasts.

It was the final battle of Earth and they were losing.

Onslaught roared his fury, his Combaticon team lurching forward like a wave from the oil sea, ripping through anything that got in their path. He slammed a fist into an Autobot helm and downed the mech, dentas grit tightly behind his face mask. Blast Off and Vortex shot past when he stalled for a moment to watch the Autobot die, the aerials having taken to the ground as the skies had become too dangerous to enter. Flack alone would not be the end of them. He would not allow it.

"Brawl, Swindle! Get out there and destroy the Autobots!"

Brawl was damaged, the tank one of the first to enter the mass of enemy soldiers. While he might be a large model covered in heavy plating, he could be wounded like any of the others. His visor was cracked and his faceplate was damaged, his vents coming out in labored wheezes as his throat vent was nearly crushed.

"He's broken, Onslaught! Leave him behind!" Swindle snapped, always the business mech. "We throw out weapons that don't work-and he sure ain't working anymore!"

For a moment Onslaught wanted to agree, to say they should abandon Brawl to whatever fate would meet him out on the bloody battlefield. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. The tank was the worst of the group, but he had been useful and strong until now.

"We are not getting rid of him! Both of you, get back into the fray! I want these Autobots dead!"

Swindle went scampering off, planting some special EMP bombs as he darted among the enemy. He was small and could use it to his advantage at times like these. The big mechs would get too crowded in together and press themselves close so they could not move well, but he could dash in between small gaps and drop the weapons that would disable them completely.

Onslaught clashed with another Autobot after that, the mech nearly the same color as he was, save for some white streaks along his side plating. They snarled and snapped at one another like raging mechanimals, ripping away armor as they attempted to reach a weak spot. Onslaught found it first, the hand that was curled around his energon knife ramming into the other mech's exposed middle protoflesh and softer metal plating.

He twisted the blade and severed whatever he could as the Autobot thrashed and attempted to rear back, blue optics huge with terror. Only an Autobot would be afraid to die. What fools. Onslaught cut through his neck when he pulled away, the mech dying without so much as a shout. Onslaught clashed with another truck mech in the fray and would have missed what happened next if the gestalt bond hadn't been open.

Vortex went down as he grappled with both the Lamborghini Twins at once. He had mortally wounded Sideswipe, but his brother frontliner was the stronger of the two. He returned the staggering damage once Vortex was tired, rotor blades torn from his frame and then a gaping hole blasted into his torso. The helicopter collapsed and the gestalt bond flared with pain. Vortex wasn't dead, but he would be soon if he didn't get help.

Brawl was next, the massive tank mech felled by Warpath. They were both the same type, but not the same class. Brawl was a forty-five ton tank meant to deal heavy damage while Warpath was a mere sixteen tons meant to be quick and dangerous. He danced around Brawl, shooting the whole time. After enough abuse, Brawl found he could no longer keep up or be much of a threat at all. His vents were labored and now he was losing energon all over. With a soft snarl, he let his knees give out and send his frame to the ground.

Swindle was lost in the crowd of Autobots, swept away in their half of the raging metal sea. Blast Off returned to Onslaught's side and stood with him back to back, chunky shuttle wings peppered with holes from his flight earlier. He said nothing, the purple and brown shuttle sensing this was it. The Decepticons were losing the battle, bots succumbing to the enemy at every turn. Even Megatron was struggling with Optimus Prime now.

"We must fight them!"

"For what purpose, Onslaught? It is over," Blast Off said, his blaster swiveling from the enemy ranks to his own chest. "Take your own life before they steal it from you."

"Don't you dare pull that trigger, you aloof wretch!"

The shot was deafening at such a close range, Onslaught feeling the sharp pinch and then dullness. Blast Off might actually have killed himself. The others radiated agony and suffering, but Blast Off's gestalt bond felt numb. And at that moment Onslaught realized he had lost every single bot he had. It was just him that remained, a rugged blue truck in the middle of a roaring battle.

He spat when he got tackled from the side and thrown into the ground, looking up to see it was Ironhide. Snarling, he threw the red armored van from his frame and lurched forward to end him. With his energon knife raised, he leapt at the mech only to feel a shattering agony in his back. Onslaught slammed into the ground, clumps of dirt and grass thrown about as he finally came to a halt.

Nothing worked. He couldn't feel his legs or his lower torso at all, for the second time in his life cycle panicking. He twitched and tried to haul himself up by his arms, but it was no use. He was defeated and his gestalt was sure to bleed out and die soon.

His amber visor turned to where Optimus was battling Megatron. There was a mighty crack as Megatron rammed a fist into Optimus's chest plates and nearly crushed them, the plating buckling and sending the semi stumbling back. But the advantage didn't last as other Autobots piled themselves onto Megatron. While the mech was a former gladiator, he couldn't defeat an entire army. Onslaught looked away when he heard Megatron howl with fury and pain and the Autobots cheered, their roars sounding like primal animals finally making a kill. At that moment he knew it was over.

The war was finished.

The leader of the Combaticons made a soft groan as he was stepped on, Autobots going to reward their leader for the defeat of Megatron. It made Onslaught angry, optical visor blazing. How dare their lord leave them at such a time?! They needed a bot to take control and with him dead or captured, things would never be able to start again. No one else had the same kind of aura around them as he had.

***

Nearly the whole Earth day had gone by and the battlefield was still littered with bodies, but they were only Decepticon frames now. Their own had been carted off to med bay or the smelters as the sun had set, dusk shadows and coldness starting to grip those left outside.

"Optimus, do ya want us ta take prisoners? Or can we finally finish them off?" Ironhide asked, the red mech glancing out over the expanse of the churned field. There was hardly any grass left, the area a large mud pit mixed with old energon now.

"We will take prisoners and attempt to bring the living back into society if possible. We are the only living Cybertronians left," Optimus said, having been repaired already by Ratchet. The mech was quick when he wanted to be and had insisted he be out on the field to supervise the 'idiots,' so nothing foolish was done.

"We can make more, ya know. The war is over," Ironhide snorted, annoyed he had been robbed a chance to bring down the last Decepticons alive. Optimus was a little too soft for his liking sometimes.

"I want them all brought to Ratchet when you have the living rounded up. I do not want them to suffer."

"Suit yerself. I couldn't much care."

Ironhide huffed at the orders and went lumbering down the slight rise of the hill they currently stood on into the brown and pink field. Smokescreen, Warpath, Hound, and Bluestreak came as well, wanting to be of help. Ironhide alone could not move all the bots.

Onslaught came to when he felt something pressing into his neck cabling, most likely fingers checking for a pulse. He made a groan and tried to stand up, but found he couldn't move. He must have blacked out and forgotten his damage. Bleary optics attempted to focus on the one who was picking him up. The bot was being surprisingly gentle, supporting him nicely as he was carried off somewhere.

"You should be -Kerblam!- thankful Optimus wanted us to save all of you," Warpath's unforgettable voice rumbled, the small tank hauling Onslaught towards an open ground bridge.

"My gestalt..."

"They're somehow all alive. You have a -Bam!- strong group!"

Onslaught relaxed slightly at that, glad to hear they were all okay, at least for now. He had no idea where they were being taken, but he assumed they would be prisoners. There was no need to torture anyone now. Megatron was gone and the war had come to and end. He would have asked more questions of the tank mech, but didn't get a chance. His back ached terribly and all he wanted to do was rest. So he did, head lolling against Warpath's shoulder plating as he was carried through the swirling energy that was the ground bridge.

Vortex watched the red tank take Onslaught away and made a soft sound to try and call his leader back. The helicopter was distraught, weakened and close to death but unwilling to give up his fight. He tried to rise from where he lay, only managing to cause himself misery. He flopped over onto his other side and thrashed his limbs in anger, wanting to be free of his wounds and back in action.

"Hello, Vortex," a calm voice said, the gray and blue mech looking over to find Smokescreen standing over him. The mech knelt down a moment later and held out a hand. "I'm going to pick you up and bring you back to the others, okay?"

Vortex wasn't sure if it was okay, but he was too damaged to put up a fight or throw a fit. So he soon found himself being carried off where Onslaught had gone, entering the ground bridge and groaning. He had no idea what was in store for him, but he imagined it would include a lot of pain.

Brawl was the only other Combaticon that was conscious when the Autobots came to pick the dead and wounded up off the muddied ground. His labored venting got Bluestreak and Hound to his side, the two mechs struggling to lift the massive bot. The only thing heavier than a tank type was a shuttle and Blast Off had almost seemed lighter.

"Brawl, can you hear us?" Bluestreak asked, closest to the mech's head as he was supporting his chassis and upper torso while Hound got his legs. The green and brown bot made a raspy growl, trying to be the aggressive thing they knew him as. It was terribly weak, so it didn't give either of the Autobots much cause for concern. None of the Decepticons that were still alive posed much of a threat anymore.

"All of your gestalt mates are okay. Swindle and Blast Off are pretty damaged, but Ratchet and First Aid can get them all fixed up," Bluestreak added, trying to keep Brawl occupied in case he did decide to cause trouble. The tank made a barely audible grunt, pleased to hear his brothers were still kicking. Good. Maybe they could find a way out of this mess.


	2. The Past ~ Blast Off

Blast Off watched his memory files meander past as he settled down into stasis lock, the images and events vivid as if he had been living them at that very moment. The gunshot right to his chest hadn't killed him yet to his dismay, but the stasis lock would do so soon. His purple optics caught sight of the earliest memory he had and his mind reached out for it, pulling the bundle closer like a fish on the end of a pole until he escaped into it, wondering it this was what the Well was like.

***

"And you will be named Blast Off," the voice of a proud Carrier declared, holding a brown and purple sparkling under his arms. The newborn huffed and tried to touch his creator's faceplate, the blue optics looking back at him catching his attention.

"He's the strongest of the litter, isn't he?", the Sire said, the massive shuttle mech flicking his wings. His mate was a truck type, the bot a dull brown and brick red while his vibrant purple and gray glimmered in the dim light of the apartment room.

The Carrier nodded and tucked Blast Off up against his side between his two bothers. One was red and purple while the other was gray with a few brown streaks for detailing. None of them were very outstanding, but the creators were proud of their tiny litter. Really it was just a trine, but they liked to imagine they had made more than a mere trine with their coupling.

Blast Off pushed himself closest to the fuel line and latched on, his Carrier making a soft grunt at the sudden pull and tug of a sparkling nursing. The other two moved aside and found other lines to suckle from, Blast Off having taken the one at the best angle. The newborn was strong just as his creators had said.

"Have you gotten word from the other miners about the possible revolt?", the Carrier asked suddenly, shifting while the sparklings tried to drink their fill and getting some angry cheeps and shuffling around before they returned to feeding. "I worry we might get involved without meaning to after we just had these little ones...",

"We will be fine. You worry too much," the Sire rumbled, leaning over and nuzzling at his mate's cheek. The truck was happy for the attention and gladly let the shuttle mech curl up around him in their large berth.

"But we have to be prepared! What if something does happen? Will we escape? I know you could fit us on your cargo space, yes?"

"I could do that so long as they are not too large. I am big, but Blast Off might become my size or larger. We cannot know for sure now, so we will have to hope this revolution of yours never comes to be. If it does, we will deal with it then. Megatronus is merely excited about winning his matches,"

The Carrier didn't believe it. Megatronus was a mech with a natural leading capability and he would gain support quickly, like a landslide down the side of the Iacon heights. It was only a matter of time before someone realized what he could do for them and jump on the opportunity. He wished nothing would happen, that they could stay as they had for vorns upon vorns. They were both miners, himself a deep mine working and his mate a cargo transport as most shuttles became once they grew old enough to know they needed a job.

The truck mech softly pet the backs of his offspring, wishing them all the best. They might not be the most vibrantly colored, but they were sure to be good bots. They had supportive creators who could keep them alive and relatively happy, so he hoped that was all they would need. It was his first litter, so many things about caring for the newborns were foreign to him.

"We can always move to some city that isn't taking part in the revolt, you know. Like the Crystal City. They never get involved with such things. We could go there and wait it out before coming back. It would work," the shuttle mech said, nipping softly at his mate's lower lip to keep his attention on better things.

Blast Off finished suckling and rolled over into his back, stubby beginnings of shuttle wings hardly noticeable to him as he locked his legs and made a soft chirr sound. It got the attention of his creators and the sparkling peeped excitedly when he was held by his Sire and cradled up close to his chassis. He could hear the steady spark beat that was somehow mingled with that of his Carrier, making quiet sparkling sounds as he was rocked.

"He will be something good when he is older. I'm sure of it!"

"They all will be. Now rest. You have a busy solar cycle in the mines tomorrow and I have a rough schedule out on the loading docks. I will take the sparklings and keep watch over them."

Mining was far more dangerous than being at a loading dock, so their young would stay with their Sire until their work ended. The sparklings had no idea what was being discussed, mewling and chirping for more attention. Their Carrier gave them each equal attention, although Blast Off hugged the hand that rubbed his chubby sparkling middle and made quite a squeal. That got both his creators to laugh, optics warm as they watched their little creations. To them there was nothing better than having a family.

***

The next deca cycle was stressful, both creators having to work around their busy work schedules to fit in interactions with their sparklings. The Sire always brought them in a large crate padded with blankets to the loading docks. There other mechs and a few femmes checked in on them constantly and took over for the shuttle mech when his offspring needed some fuel. It worked well enough, all the bots happy to help their dock manager with his trine. He still called them a litter, but it didn't quite count.

Blast Off watched bots bustling around the box with a curious purple visor, cheeping when anyone came over to see them. His wings were growing faster than his brother so far and it made the sparkling with happy. The third born was a truck type and had no wings to speak of, so the two aerials were competing amongst themselves.

"Awww, look at them!", a deep voice chuckled, a huge tank mech kneeling down and picking up Blast Off. The brown and purple mechling giggled and churred when he was held and looked over, the growing nubs of his shuttle wings rubbed gently. "Ranger, you have quite the sparklings!"

"We tried," Ranger said, the massive purple and gray mech grinning with pride. "It took a lot of tries, but I can't say I'm complaining about that!"

"That's the best part of the job, mech! Well, almost. The sparkling care must have its perks," the tank mech rumbled, clapping Ranger on his back with a loud clang. All the sparklings looked in that direction at the same time, curious as to what the loud notice was from. They were used to a lot of commotion, but this involved vocal patters AND clanging.

The sparklings were left for a few more cycles before their Sire, Ranger, came back and fed them. No one stared at the huge mech as he fed his young, none willing to risk their jobs or their faceplate configurations by mocking him. He might be the Sire, but he was more than willing to put in his share of the work. It really was a perfect family and there was nothing that could be done to tear it apart.

***

"Megatronus and his group are becoming restless. I think we need to make our position known before we become recruited. I want no part of it," the truck mech growled at his mate late into the lunar cycle. The two say together at the banged up dinner table in their shoddy apartment, blue optics meeting red.

"We can pretend to join Megatronus. It will keep us safe for a while and hopefully it will not come to war."

"But if it does?"

"Then we will flee."

"Where do we go, Ranger?! That's the problem! There won't be anyplace that is safe anymore once he gets in control! You know as well as I do he won't handle the power correctly! He's a gladiator! He lives to win and defeat others!"

"Shift, calm yourself. There has been no sign he will become a dictator. You don't know what he'll do."

The two bots argued into the lunar cycle while their younglings slept. They were now old enough to speak a few words and had grown considerably. Blast Off was the biggest and the strongest as they had predicted, the mechling towering over the runt of the trine and easily competing with his other flight capable brother. His visor watched his creators while the others slept, too smart to be lulled to sleep when there was something more interesting going on in the other room.

"We can deal with all of this when the time comes. Right now all we need to do is watch over our sparklings and-"

"We are watching over them by making a smart choice! Ranger, we need to get out of here before it happens. Promise me we will," Shift begged, the truck mech grasping his mate's hands. "Don't let us get dragged into a senseless fight."

"I won't, I won't. Calm down and make sure the sparklings are fed before we go to recharge. I think one of them is up," Ranger said, spotting the purple visor of Blast Off peering in at them from over the side of their crib.

"Blast Off, you should be recharging!", Shift called, trotting over to tend to the little one. He picked up the shuttle mechling and rocked him, Blast Off greeting his creator with a happy 'Carrier!,' and cuddling close. He knew something was going to happen, but he wasn't sure what it would be yet.

***

The official war began when the trine could walk and fully reached younglinghood. Now they could speak like toddlers should and waddle about on clumsy legs. Their creators were even more protective over them now, partly because they could find more trouble to get themselves into and because the times had changed into very unfriendly ones. No one was safe anymore and the war could end up on the doorsteps of any bot.

Shift and Ranger were officially Neutrals, having refused to take a side even when Megatron had asked for their support. He had nodded at their refusal and said he understood, but Shift had seen the malicious glimmer in his eyes. They were just something in the way now, nothing he could use. It made the mech shiver to think it, but he could read body and optic language well.

The sounds of war could be heard just outside of the city gates, Kaon already being swarmed by Autobots. Decepticons flooded out of their homes towards the main gates, ready and armed. Those who wanted no part in the war were now trapped between those who did, no area left open for escape. Barred inside the city, Shift and Ranger had to make a choice.

"We need to get out of here," Shift said, gathering the younglings into his arms as Ranger checked the outside street. So far none had broken through the gate, but the sounds of fighting were growing louder. Whatever was happening, it was just starting to heat up.

"I know. I just never imagined they would start attacking each other so soon!"

"No one knew. Only Megatron and his group of crazy bots," Shift agreed, not thinking too hard on it. They needed to get out and only think about that.

Blast Off clung to Ranger as he and his brothers were taken out of the house and into the empty street. Shift took him back while Ranger transformed, massive frame easily fitting the younglings and his mate into the cargo area.

"Ready for lift off?", he asked, thrusters flaring to life with a roar.

"Ready when you are, Ranger."

Ranger took off, using the road as a ramp. He shot into the sky and now saw the battle below. It was horrible, the Autobots so close to bringing down Kaon's gates. The two sides raged, tearing and ripping at each other in hopes the enemy would give up first.

"It looks pretty bad down there," Ranger said, banking to the left and pulling his family further from the range of fire.

It was too late. He had been spotted by Autobot snipers or long range gunners before he was safe from fire. Energon bullets tore through his chunky shuttle wings and his cargo pit. Shift howled with mental agony as Blast Off's brother shuttle was shot through the helm. The lifeless frame slumped back against Blast Off, gray and most certainly dead. Blast Off started wailing as did the runt of the litter, both clinging to their Carrier as Ranger struggled to stay in the air.

"Shift, I'm wounded! I'm going down!"

"Ranger, we lost him! WE LOST HIM!", Shift screamed, an absolute wreck as his mate careened towards the metal ground outside of Kaon.

"Shift, I love you-"

Ranger crashed with a thundering boom, his entire cargo pit tearing open and spilling out his younglings and mate like a gutted mechanimal would lose its innards. Shift grabbed the closest youngling, which happened to be Blast Off, and curled around him to protect against the impact. His brother was killed in the crash due to the brunt of the impact, joining his brother in whatever Well there was for them.

Blast Off squealed as he and Shift were tossed onto the ground, his Carrier sustaining a huge deal of damage as he rolled and skidded across the rough ground. Somehow he managed to hold onto Blast Off and keep him safe under his arms and frame. The youngling didn't stop crying until Shift's frame came to a stop at last.

Blast Off felt the arms that had been holding him in a death grip slowly relax, the youngling tumbling out of the hold. Shift's body was twisted at an odd angle, Blast Off's optical visor searching for blue optics and his audio receptors expecting to hear 'it's okay,' again. But he didn't hear anything. Shift was strangely silent.

"Carrier?", Blast Off mewled, crawling up against him and shoving his shoulder. "Carrier?"

He turned his attention to where Ranger had landed. His Sire was transformed from his shuttle form but was no longer purple and vibrant gray. He was ripped open and dull gray, his internal components spilled out around his carcass. The landing had been the end of him. Blast Off might be a youngling, but he naturally knew death when he saw it.

"Carrier! Sire's hurt!", he wailed, hugging Shift's bloody neck. His frame was still warm, but it was also gray and spattered with pink energon. "CARRIER!"

Blast Off bawled, the sound purely spark wrenching as he clung to the only thing he knew as safety. His brothers were gone, his Sire was gone, and now the one he had loved the most, his Carrier, was gone as well. The youngling cried himself into exhaustion, slumping against Shift's mangled torso in defeat.

He had no idea he was picked up in the early hours of the morning by a mech with a sing, glowing yellow optic. The youngling curled into the warm arms that held him and in his dreams saw his creators smiling, wishing dearly that when he woke up, things would be back to normal again.


	3. The Past ~ Blast Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song just seemed to fit for Blast Off when I was writing this, so I thought I should post it and you guys can check it out if you like :) 
> 
> http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eafa1QVujGQ

Shockwave. That was his name. Blast Off cared little for the mech, hardly interested in a bot that purely saw him as a thing to be used. Sure, he offered him all the reading material he asked for and left him alone for the most part, but Blast Off didn't trust it. He was too smart for that, even if he was only reaching the first stage of adolescence.

"Have you already finished your readings on Vos?", Shockwave asked with surprise when a shuttle mech already the same size as himself padded into his main laboratory.

"Yes. I have finished," Blast Off answered, simply holding the data pad out and waiting for Shockwave to hand him another. The purple cyclops nodded once and turned to get some more volumes for the voracious reader.

Ever since he had picked the youngling up off the battlefield, Blast Off had become increasingly uninterested in contact with anyone. He didn't act like a normal youngling should as he developed. He had a strikingly inflated sense of self importance and aloofness. Sometimes Shockwave could catch the bot talking to himself as he looked into a mirror, saying that he was the strongest and he had been meant to survive while the others has perished that day. For even a mech like Shockwave, it broke his spark to hear such things out of a young creation's mouth. On top of that, he would stick to himself and data pads, unwilling to become close to anyone for fear they would be stollen again.

The experience had been traumatic for the poor mech and he would most likely never forget. Blast Off would turn into a bot with few feelings only because he was scared to feel again. Shockwave knew many who were just like him. It hurt to think on it too much, so the scientist was developing ways to make both Megatron and Blast Off successful and pleased.

He would make the bot a part of a gestalt.

"Blast Off, I wish for you to be a part of this. You will have brothers," Shockwave told him once he had finalized the plans for the gestalt. The shuttle mech had hardly glanced in his direction, purple visor uninterested.

"I don't need brothers."

"You might be surprised when they arrive. You are the first, but four more will join you," Shockwave said, the cyclops mech nodding once as he turned back to his work at a laboratory desk.

Blast Off fully ignored him, returning his optics to his data pad. While his past was one he hated to remember, it was part of the haunted recesses of his processor. To avoid the darkness, he delved deep into historical novels to escape into other cities, other worlds, anywhere to get away from the deaths he had witnessed.

'You were always the strongest. You must hold fast, Blast Off. Just...find a way. If it means never feeling again, so be it. I will survive,' Blast Off told himself, his grit dentas hidden behind a newly added face mask. The only thing he couldn't hide was the washer fluid welling up around his purple optical visor.

***

Blast Off was determined to hate them. His 'new brothers' slowly were collected by Shockwave, one by one adding to the awkwardness of the area he lived in. Blast Off felt it was his realm in the laboratory and that they had all invaded, but he said nothing, keeping to himself.

Swindle was the first to attempt contact, the mech having tried to greet him with a deal on some stupid high grade. Blast Off had sneered behind his mask and turned away the offering, having no interest in material things. All he wanted was knowledge and comfort in himself now. Trust no one and care for no one because then it would never hurt when they were gone.

"I have no interest in high grade."

"But it's the best out there! It's a limited time offer! If you buy now, you know what I'll do for you? I'll throw in a free regular cube! How does that sound?"

"Get out of my room."

"But Blast Off, I just wanted to get to know y-"

"Get. Out. Now."

That had been the end of their brief encounter, Swindle thankfully understanding and scurrying off to bother someone else. Blast Off retreated to his small room and sat on the berth, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on one of them. No one would understand how it felt, so keeping his feelings apart from theirs was best. The others thankfully left him alone after Swindle's failed attempt at some strange form of friendship, so he had won the first battle.

Shockwave had explained to him once they were given the gestalt bond they would be able of feel each other like bondmates, but not as strongly. Once they did find mates-if they ever did-the gestalt bond would be replaced painlessly. Blast Off hated that, assuming he would forever have to have the feeling of the gestalt due to the fact he refused to get close to a bot to become a bondmate, let alone share a single frag.

***

Blast Off lay down on a medical cot beside Onslaught and Vortex. The weirdo of a helicopter mech bothered him constantly and was trying to do so right then, waving and calling out to him about going for a flight together. He ignored all the mindless chatter from the fool and shut off his optical visor, trying to relax. Shockwave would hook them up to an energon drip mixed with sedative and they would be free from one another for the last time ever.

In a way Blast Off wanted to fight-wanted to say he wished to have no part in this-but he knew better. Shockwave had rescued him and he did owe the bot something. If becoming a gestalt with some idiots was the price to pay, he could handle it. There were worse things to be forced into.

Shockwave patted his shoulder when he took his arm and skillfully eased an IV-like drip into the main line between armor plating and soon he was drowsy. His optical visor started pouring out tears and he made a choked sob, trying to grab ahold of the scientist. He didn't want to be trapped forever with 'brothers' who were nothing to him. He wanted to be free! The purple mech with the single yellow optic gave him a hug and told him things would be better when he woke. After that was said, Blast Off faded into darkness as he could not be strong forever.

***

Blast Off woke feeling like a changed mech. So many feelings that he distinctly knew were not his own swirled around in his mind and his spark, his frame seeming like it really was connected with the other four of the gestalt. He almost instantly slammed a mental wall down around his feelings so none could know who he really was.

The shuttle mech dully felt the others even through the crude blockage he had thrown up to deter them; Brawl's side was wrathful and hurt, Vortex's confused and upset, Onslaught's dark but strong, and Swindle's scattered and distraught. He covered his optical visor with brown hands and groaned.

'What do they feel from me, then? Misery and pain? Weakness?', Blast Off wondered, his helm aching terribly. Shockwave was telling them something but he shut out the words, every vocalizations hurting him like a thrown knife into protoflesh between armor plates.

"You feel ill?", Shockwave asked, suddenly over at his side. Blast Off waved him away and snarled.

"I tire of hearing your prattle. I am more than capable of reading this speech of yours from a data pad. Send it to me in a file and leave me be. My helm aches," he said sharply, rolling over onto his chest plates on the large cot so his back was turned on Shockwave.

"I will send you what you need. Rest. Soon you will be meeting with Lord Megatron."

'No one rules me, Shockwave. I am Blast Off. I am the strongest, the best, the one chosen above the others to survive.'

***

Blast Off had never felt so terrified when the final battle turned in the Autobot's favor, the bots suddenly pushing with newfound energy into their lines. They broke through them despite the fierce fighting and determined Decepticon efforts. Onslaught was howling at them to continue fighting even though it was obviously over, the blue truck mech refusing to give ground.

The moment the shuttle mech watched Brawl and Vortex fall and Swindle get swept away into the mass of Autobot frames, he gave up. He saw flashes of Ranger, Shift, and his two brothers getting dashed against the ground, frames torn apart and gray while their innards glowed ghastly pink. Blast Off felt Shift's arms grow limp and slowly let go of him, his Carrier protecting him until he could do so no longer.

He silently choked up and pulled his blaster up to his chest plates. There was no way he was going to see the others die the same way. As much as he hated to admit it, after vorns and vorns together, he had started believing they really were his brothers. The Combaticons were the cast aways, the rejects, the survivors-but now it was over for them all.

Too prideful to be taken prisoner and too scared to watch the only ones he secretly cared about get slaughtered, he shot himself in hopes he could escape. And at that last moment before he pulled the trigger, he opened his side of the gestalt bond for the first time since they had woken in Shockwave's laboratory and told them all he loved them.


	4. The Past ~ Vortex

Vortex was foolish to take on both the Twins on his own, but he enjoyed gambling. What was life without some risk, he had told himself, as he launched into the fray and grappled with Sideswipe. He had nearly ripped out his throat and had crippled him enough so he wouldn't be unable to fight back when his brother came out of the Autobot masses and attacked with all the fury he had.

Vortex had never known what it felt like to die, but he started to learn once his mortally wounded frame was tossed aside in the field after Sunstreaker deemed him close enough to death to leave him alone. The helicopter mech lay where he had been thrown and watched himself bleed out through a gaping wound in his side. Someone came later to pick him up and in those arms he passed out, unable to prevent his ending any longer. As he felt himself die, he latched onto a passing memory file and dove into it in hopes he could somehow salvage his existence.

***

It was a litter of seven, quite a feat for two fliers. The Seeker was the lowest class of his type and the helicopter mech the highest of his, the two having met up and started a life together after a great deal of courting. So far their life had been perfect and seemed to only grow better as they were blessed with such wonderful creations.

"What are we going to name them all?" the Carrier asked, his wings flicking happily as he pet across the soft metal helms of their little ones.

"We'll figure it out. We just need to spend time with them and learn their personalities," the Sire said, his rotor blades clicking against each other as he spoke. "I want one of them to be named Turbine, though. That was my Sire's designation."

"That sounds like a good Seeker name to me."

"Then we will name of the Seekers accordingly."

The couple finally started the naming process after a good two hours of debate about what names better fit types. Turbine was named first, a pure blue Seeker with large jet engines already apparent. He would fit the name best. Of the seven, four were Seekers and three helicopters, so they had a lot of names to dream up.

"Let's have this little guy be Vortex. He seems to like rotors already," the Sire barked with laughter, seeing the helicopter sparkling trying to reach out and touch the flared rotor blades at his back.

Vortex was the most dull of the group, a bland gray and blue. A red optical visor was bright as could be which somewhat made up for the lack of pigmentation in his frame. He was talkative as a sparkling and sweet, hanging onto his Carrier's hand when his blocky helm was lightly stroked.

"He is a cheerful little thing. It's nice to know one of them takes after you," the Sire rumbled, watching as his mate pulled all the young over to his frame and let the ones who were awake refuel if they needed it. There was always one left out as he only had six fuel lines, but they managed to cycle everyone through so none were left out or hungry. 

Vortex snuggled in between two of his brothers and found a fuel line, the warm rubber nub quickly disappearing into his mouth. Some energon dribbled from his lips as he nursed, tiny gray hands clinging to the frame of his Carrier.

"Now comes the hard part. We have to raise all of them," the Seeker laughed, staying nice and still so their young could take what they needed from his frame. It would be an adventure bringing up seven sparklings, but he was sure they could do it together.

***

The sparklings grew quickly in the optics of their creators, the mechs watching as their newborns soon turned to younglings. They had done their best to give them all equal attention, but one of their litter stood out from the rest. His name was Skybolt, a handsome Seekerling of vibrant red, orange, and blue. He appeared the smartest and the most interesting, so the creators were naturally drawn to the 'best' of their creations.

Vortex made a happy peep and tried to call his Creator over when he wanted to be picked up, hands waving around. None of the litter had learned to walk yet and they only knew very simple words, but Vortex was determined to be noticed. He was always left out because of his dull colors. No matter how much noise he made, he was still ignored for the most part.

"Blayse!" he chirped, trying so hard to say the Seeker's name. The mech didn't even hear the call from the floor of the playroom, instead fussing over Skybolt's wings. They had grown more than the others and it was a huge topic of conversation for the proud Seeker mech.

Vortex huffed in a frustrated way and started crawling, intent on getting the attention he so badly wanted. He pushed himself off the floor and suddenly he was toddling on two legs towards his Carrier. The helicopter mechling made a shrill squeal of joy and tried to run, falling twice but picking himself back up again.

"Blaaaaaay!" he called again, stopping when Blaze let out a pleased rumble and an excited laugh.

"Stormsky! Come look! He's walking!"

"Which one?" came a voice from their kitchen area.

"Skybolt!"

Vortex felt his whole frame slump when Skybolt got all the attention yet again. He wasn't the first one to walk! If only Blaze had turned he would have seen it was him! He was the one who had figured it out! He'd done it before the favorite!

The helicopter mechling sat down and started bawling, washer fluid pouring from his optical visor. He was both angry and upset, tiny hands balled into fists as he wailed at the top of his vocalizer. Why didn't anyone care what he was doing? Why didn't they see he was just as good as Skybolt?! Finally Blaze swept him up off the playroom floor and cradled him to his chassis, the mechling sniffling as he was rocked slowly.

"Why are you crying, little Vortex? Everything's okay," Blaze murmured, kissing his forehead. The attention got Vortex to settle down and cling to his Carrier, visor dulling slightly as he drifted closer and closer to recharge with every sway his creator made.

"Mmnnnhh..." he fussed, trying to shift around and not be coaxed into sleep. Blaze rumbled softly at him and kept up the rocking, soon holding a sleeping helicopter mechling. Little did he know what was running through the tiny youngling's head as he dreamed.

***

It took a few more deca cycles before all seven of the litter could walk and speak relatively well, each of them growing considerably, too. They were reaching four vorns old now, wings and rotor blades developing swiftly along with personalities and thicker armor plating.

Skybolt was still the favorite youngling. He was always given the most attention, the most toys, the most love...and it made Vortex bitter. He was old enough now to truly see how bad it was. He and his brothers were often ignored because Skybolt did something better than them. It saddened his little spark to think his creators didn't love him as much as another of the same litter. But sadness is often masked by anger and hate, something he was starting to develop towards the Seekerling.

Stormsky left for work that morning as usual and Blaze was left to tend to the little ones. Vortex was sitting in the playroom with the rest of his brothers, happy to sit with Royal Line and play with their toy planes. His excited giggling soon came to a halt when he saw red, orange, and blue come into his vision.

"I want that!" Skybolt demanded, pointing to the jet plane Vortex had in his right hand. Claws were now beginning to grow sharp and they dug into the soft metal figurine with possessiveness when the Seekerling demanded it.

"I'm playing with it!"

"I want it!" Skybolt tried again, stomping a pede to get his way.

"No!" Vortex snapped, hugging the toy tight to his chest. The other litter mates glanced over now, red optics and visors turned on the scene. No one ever said no to Skybolt.

Skybolt thought he could bully Vortex into giving over the toy, trying to loom over the lithe helicopter mech by flaring his wings and aggressively posturing. Vortex hissed, stubby rotors clicking as he slinked down into a fighting pose. For a moment there was hesitation in Skybolt's optics but it faded quickly as fury overtook him.

"No! I want it now!"

Skybolt grabbed Vortex's wrists and tried to wrestle the item from him. Vortex snarled and yanked back, claws digging into the paint of the toy as well as Skybolt's red hands. The mechlings tumbled onto the floor and wrestled there, each trying to gain the upper hand as they duked it out for a simple toy.

Vortex wanted to win. He wanted badly to show everyone he was the top mech and that Skybolt was not as good as their creators thought. The other six mechlings lived in his shadow and Vortex would have no more of it. He hissed again and fully ripped the toy out of the Seekerling's hands, triumphantly holding it up for his brothers to see.

That was the worst thing he could have done as Skybolt's expression went dark. He launched himself at Vortex and grabbed ahold of his rotor blades. He yanked them painfully downwards, getting a shriek out of the other mechling. Vortex dropped the toy instantly and whirled around to fight off his attacker. Now it was about more than a simple toy. This was youngling warfare.

The others scampered out of the way as Skybolt and Vortex crashed into the toy chest, spilling a huge deal of items out onto the floor. They fought among them like wild mechanimal canines, snapping and snarling at one another in hopes one would back down. Neither did and they stubbornly continued their fight. Blaze knew nothing of the excitement in the playroom, having entered the wash racks for a quick rinse.

"You're mean!" Vortex growled at Skybolt, a claw digging into the Seekerling's chest seam and drawing energon as the two struggled.

"No, you're mean! Mean mean mean! And dumb!"

Vortex felt his rotors get grabbed again and lashed out with full force. His hands instinctively went towards Skybolt's neck and soon they were curled around it and squeezing tightly. Skybolt did the same, trying to outdo Vortex in that area, too. But he wasn't as strong in the end, nor was he as swift.

Vortex watched as Skybolt's struggle ceased and his hisses and snarls turned to whimpering huffs. Then he went to recharge. Vortex didn't remove his hands right away, doing so only when he was sure Skybolt had went to sleep. He took his hands off just as Blaze entered the room and saw the scene.

"What did you do?! Skybolt!" he howled, pushing Vortex out of the way and scooping up Skybolt's frame. As he held his favorite creation, he watched the frame in his arms go gray and lifeless. Vortex had crushed his main vent and the youngling had suffocated to death.

The Carrier turned to regard Vortex, his expression nothing less than malicious.

***

"He murdered Skybolt! I left the room for only a few clicks and when I came back I walked in one a murder scene! He died in my arms, Stormsky! No creator should have to watch their own creation die!", Blaze howled with agony as Stormsky glanced over at Vortex, the youngling now standing in the time-out corner. He had been there for a long time now, no one sure what to do about the recent trouble.

"I am sure he didn't know what he was doing, Blaze-"

"No! He knew! He was jealous of his brother and he did this all on purpose! Vortex is a monster of a mechling! We need to be rid of him!"

"We are not getting rid of our own mechling! Are you a fool?! Has your grief turned YOU into a monster?!" Stormsky demanded, standing up from the table to take on the Seeker. "What has happened to you?"

"You dare take the side of a killer!"

"He is our creation! He is only four vorns old and you pronounce him a killer?! He hardly knows what he has done! Death is foreign to younglings!"

Vortex flinched as the two argued about him. He knew what he had done thanks to Blaze screaming at him long before his Sire even got home. He had put Skybolt to sleep forever. It didn't sound that bad, but he was in huge trouble for what he did. If only they would listen when he told them about how Skybolt attacked...

He was finally moved out of the corner back to his little berth, his Sire tucking him in and promising everything would be alright. Vortex trusted him and gave him a hug, saying he was sorry. Stormsky smiled, kissing the little mechling's helm before he headed out of the room.

***

Vortex had a dream he was flying. He was soaring in his robot mode, not needing to transform at all to feel the wind against his rotor blades and frame. It was a glorious moment and he savored the dream, clinging to it and wishing it would never end. But all good things ended and he found himself jolted awake in someone's arms.

"Carrier?" he mewled, sleepy and unsure of what was going on. He saw dark red optics glaring down at him and knew he had guessed correctly. His Sire never looked at him like that.

"You killed him."

"I didn't mean to do it!" Vortex wailed, sobbing like crazy. He found they were outside on the balcony of their Vosian tower apartment. The wind was strong and pleasant save for the mood circling the mechling and his creator.

"You won't kill any more of my mechlings. Do you hear me, you little monster?! You will never kill anyone again!"

And with that Vortex was flung over the side of the balcony. He didn't scream at first, tiny limbs flailing about as he tried to figure out how to transform, how to fly as he did in his dream. When he saw the ground fast approaching he let out a squealing cry, begging for someone to save him.

Just as he was about to land on the metal road below, he was caught with a sickening crack in the arms of a passing mech. Vortex was screaming now, his rotor hub damaged badly along with his spinal strut. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was a single yellow optic.

And then things went dark.


	5. The Past ~ Vortex

Vortex did not fully recover, at least not mentally. His frame was returned to health thanks to Shockwave's careful attention and care, but his personality had drastically changed. The youngling Shockwave had rescued had been damaged almost beyond repair after the fall and the traumatic events leading up to his abandonment. Now Vortex was terribly unpredictable, dangerous, and too smart for his own good. The helicopter mech was the type of bot that would play with a mechanimal one moment and the next torture it. Shockwave had already lost two drones to the bot and six mechanimals to the vicious mech.

"So they will be my new brothers?" Vortex asked, bounding over to Shockwave. He was never aggressive towards that mech, respecting him after he took him in and repaired the damage from the fall. To Vortex sometimes Shockwave was that Carrier he had never had, the bot who would support him equally among his new companions.

"They will. I have to collect two more for a full gestalt, but after that you will all be connected."

"Good. I miss the others."

"How many siblings did you have?"

"Seven of us. Well, six-I strangled Skybolt and then I was tossed from the balcony! Then you caught me and now I'm here," Vortex said brightly, red visor glimmering with that light Shockwave knew to be dangerous. Speaking about the mech's brothers and past family seemed to put him on edge faster than anything else.

"Ah, I see. These brothers will be more to your liking. With luck you will not strangle one another," Shockwave chuckled, shaking his head at the tale. It was sad that all the bots he could find were damaged goods, but it was the best he could do.

Vortex watched the other bots that were with them now. The shuttle mech was called Blast Off, but he wasn't very friendly. He preferred to be by himself. Onslaught was the obvious leader of the group already, the blue truck mech having that air of control that promised he would command respect. According to Shockwave, two more would be arriving soon. It brightened Vortex's day as he wondered what kind of bots they would be and if he would find any to call true family again.

***

Waking up to find you were connected on a deep level with four strangers was very odd, but Vortex liked weird things. He flinched when Blast Off's side of the gestalt bond was shut off as best the mech could, attempting to shun contact immediately. Onslaught's side of the bond radiated power, the mech already having been announced as their leader of Bruticus...whatever that was.

Vortex took little interest in Swindle, the mech's bond open but hardly interesting. All he was thinking about was how many credits he could gain and his emotion was purely greed. It seemed a bit too strong to Vortex, the helicopter mech understanding more had to be hiding behind the outer wall. Brawl was more interesting to him, the tank mech absolute rage. That really was the best way to describe him. The bot was a perfect example of a temperamental, bred-to-fight tank.

"Brawl! How about we get some energon? What do you say, brother?" Vortex yipped, scampering over to the tank and narrowly avoiding a punch to the helm.

"Frag off!"

"Don't be mean!" Vortex scolded, leaping back when Brawl tried to kick him. The tank was already agitated and Vortex enjoyed it. He needed someone to pester and it appeared Brawl would be that go-to bot when he needed something exciting to do.

"Shut the frag up and back off!"

Shockwave watched as Vortex danced around Brawl's medical cot, the mech still recovering from the heavy does of sedatives. The tank mech growled and swatted at Vortex, but he eventually ignored him and curled up in the single mesh blanket there. Vortex whined when Brawl simple fell back into recharge, snorting quietly in his sleep.

"Leave him be, Vortex. It is best not to cause trouble," Shockwave said softly, glad when Vortex returned to his side. The gray and blue mech was growling something, but he listened and made his way into the room with the ceiling beams.

Vortex proceeded to climb up into the ceiling and settle in the support beams like some feline mechanimal, watching everyone passing under. It was a strange habit of his, the bot always wanting to be up close to the sky and be out of reach of others. The last time he had been held and touched was when his Carrier had thrown him over the balcony, so he would never let anyone lay a hand on him. Shockwave he had owed for his life and had allowed the handling because of that, but no one else would ever be allowed to touch him again.

***

Vortex liked Megatron. He was straightforward and ruthless. The bot had respect for those who were strong or intelligent and their new warlord fit the bill. He watched with the other four as Onslaught presented them and their gestalt, Shockwave standing beside Megatron on his iron throne. The silver mech grinned, faceplate molding into a smile.

"Blast Off is the shuttle, Brawl the tank, Swindle the small truck model, Vortex to the helicopter, and myself a truck. Together we form Bruticus and we are honored to be of service to you, Lord Megatron," Onslaught announced, his soldiers and gestalt brothers standing taller as their names were called.

"Excellent work, Shockwave! And I must commend you as well, Onslaught. You have made them into fine warriors! As I have already seen what Bruticus is capable of, I would like to reward you all."

Each mech received a large sum of credits as well as high grade, each taking it graciously. They knew to keep your life around Megatron was impressive, but you have him give you gifts?! That was truly a feat to be proud of! Megatron smiled in a surprisingly fatherly way as each of the bots approached, taking a good look at each.

Vortex was the most skittish as he went to take his prize from the Decepticon leader, leaping back when Megatron reached out to touch him. Rotor blades flared angrily and the bot made a dark hiss, claws flexing as he got ready to fight. Megatron coaxed him back, finally able to lay a hand on Vortex's helm.

"You are the one I heard about. I feel your sorrows, Vortex. I know what it is like to lose the trust in others. Come here...yes, that's it...good..." Megatron purred, finally able to touch the unstable mech's helm. He pet him like an exotic mechanimal, keeping him soothed lest he attack.

Vortex allowed this, keeping his head bowed in submission as he leaned forward and took the gifts, Megatron letting him and the others go. He kept Onslaught with him, the silver warlord eyeing him with more interest than a bot would if he were just a mere soldier. The helicopter mech hurried out with the others, the door shutting and barely muffling some deep growls of arousal and murmurs from within. Onslaught and Megatron were going to seal the deal and prove loyalty by spending a lunar cycle together.

None of that sounded appealing to Vortex, the mech shuddering at the thought of being touched or handled or...fragged. He didn't like that idea at all. It was far too intimate, too meaningful, too close for comfort. He would never allow anyone to do such a thing to him. Leave all that to Onslaught then, he told himself as he hurried back with the others to curl up alone in his sparsely decorated room in the new Combaticon headquarters. Why they were called 'Combaticons,' Vortex didn't know. All he did understand from that day was that he would never be able to stay close to anyone. Time healed all wounds, but he would need eternity to repair his.


	6. The Past ~ Onslaught

Onslaught wanted to scream, but had no strength left for words or even guttural sounds. He had been broken beyond repair, his spinal strut shattered and his frame bleeding dry with every click that passed. Warpath was thankfully keeping his frame from getting too jostled on the way towards the ground bridge, but it was a small comfort.

"I can't feel my legs..." Onslaught growled, head resting against Warpath's shoulder as they approached the bridge.

He heard the red tank say something, but he didn't catch it. Dark spots collected around his vision and he felt like recharging. So he shut down his systems and let Warpath take him wherever he liked. Right then all he wanted to do was escape into his memories and take refuge there until he either returned to the living or faded into death.

***

Only one sparkling was left. The truck mechs looked at each other and then down at the only surviving mechling. He was a tiny thing of premature birth, his Carrier and Sire fearing if he would make it at all. It was unlikely he would as the others had all perished before him.

"Do you think he has a chance, Red?"

"So long as he does, we will do what we can to keep him alive. This is all we have. We will make him into something stronger than he is now," Red answered, the brick colored truck glancing over at his blue plated mate, Champion.

"What should his name be?"

"Onslaught. He will be Onslaught."

The deca cycle old sparkling mewled and rolled over onto his chassis, trying to find a fuel line. Thankfully he was taking the energon, his creators having had no luck with the others. Onslaught was a survivor and they would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

Red pulled Onslaught's skinny and somewhat malnourished frame to his, the sparkling born nearly three deca cycles early. His vents were thankfully developed just enough for him to breathe, but it was a hard for him and made putting his faceplate up against his Carrier for energon a daily struggle. If he passed out while trying to refuel, he could drown himself.

"Alright, little guy. Time to refuel," Red said lovingly, petting the mechling's helm as he guided the tiny creation towards the best fuel line. Onslaught mewled and feebly pawed at his Carrier's hand with his own, not wanting to be moved.

The sounds of crying hushed when his open mouth closed around a soft rubber nub nestled between his Carrier's side plating. Once he got a taste of the filtered energon, he greedily gulped it down and clung to the one who fed him with a death grip. Red made sure he didn't choke and pulled him away when he needed to breathe, patting his back until he deemed it fine to return to feeding.

"I want him to make it so badly. I want this to be our little soldier," Champion rumbled, watching as Red painstakingly worked on refueling their offspring. Red nodded in agreement, hoping that their wishes would be granted. So far luck and fate had worked against them, but there was no harm in trying to believe in something.

***

Onslaught made it despite all odds. The sparkling grew as he should and soon the vents that had been slightly underdeveloped became strong and healthy. He was a wonderful truck mechling and gave his creators all the joy in the world. They had taught him well and he had shown them he was remarkably talented with strategy.

"Look at him! Silverstar should worry now! He will have a new commander taking part in the battles! Onslaught, you have a mind for strategy!" Champion barked, excited as his youngling beat him again at his favorite strategy game. Onslaught beamed at him, bouncing around where he sat.

"Really, Sire?"

"Really."

The war had started but had not yet reached their home of Kaon. The revolt and Megatron had begun there, but for the moment the actual battling was not at their gates. Should it come, Champion and Red would fight alongside the others for their rights. The high class Nobles thought they could trample over the ones who kept their world so perfect! Now they would see who was truly the strongest of their kind!

"Will I be able to fight?" Onslaught asked, amber visor brightening at the idea. Champion rumbled softly, the former gladiator nuzzling his youngling's cheek.

"You are only eight vorns old. When you become my age, you may fight to your spark's content. But I will continue to train you and you will be ready for when you must take a stand."

"I want to train now! Can we? Pleeeeeeeease?"

"We may. Your Carrier will be back soon with the energon rations, but until then we can spar together. We will see if you have been practicing your routine moves as I asked," Champion chuckled, highly doubting his youngling had neglected something so important.

"I'll show you and Darksteel! Just you wait!" Onslaught declared, the two mechs sparring until Red came home carrying their energon, a handsome smile on his faceplate when he found the two most precious things to his spark together as they should be.

***

Onslaught was bred for war. He was ready for it, optical visor watching everything and everyone as he made his way through the vorns. The Autobot and Decepticon conflict grew fiercer with every passing solar cycle, the two sides chomping at the bit as they collided together in whatever battlefield presented itself. He still was unsure what had sparked the beginning of it all, but he knew he would fight for the Decepticons until his end.

Champion and Red had trained him well, teaching him every stance they knew and every trick to survive a fight. They had taught him so well he did not weep for them when they fell on the field, the adolescent Onslaught watching with hidden agony as Red was gutted before him and Champion melted under the spray of an acid pellet.

Onslaught had taken their place with iron determination to avenge them. He killed their killers, reveling in their energon as he watched their lifeblood pump out of opened lines with every pulse of the spark. Their frames went gray as had his creators and he roared his anguish and fury, visor blazing as he charged into the fray. He would make them proud, as he was sure they could watch him from the Well.

The blue truck mech fell only because he had exhausted himself physically as well as mentally. The deaths of his beloved creators had finally gotten to him, their ruined frames flashing up in front of his gaze. He felt washer fluid well up in the corner of his optical visor and he faltered in his next stance, pede slipping in a pool of some unknown mech's spilled energon. He crashed onto the ground right before a racing model, the Autobot mech surprisingly taking a step back and turning to find a different opponent.

At first Onslaught had thought it was because he was so terrifying even when downed that made the mech flee. But then he heard the shouts for Autobot retreat and watched as the mechs and scattering of femmes bolt back behind safe lines, the Decepticons chasing after them. He was too tired and upset to join them, crying silently now that mourning could set in.

"You fought bravely, as did your creators. You are a natural leader," a purple mech said, the bot strangely having only a single yellow optic. Onslaught got ready to fight him, but he saw a Decepticon brand on his frame and relaxed.

"I miss them..."

"Would you like a chance to serve Lord Megatron as a top warrior? I have need of a mech like you. I shall make you the leader of a gestalt if you so wish it."

"Who are you?"

"I am Shockwave, Megatron's personal scientist and engineer. And what, may I ask, is your designation?" Shockwave asked, the finials on the sides of his helm flicking upwards. Onslaught stood from where he had fallen to face him at full height so they came to stand at about the same optic level.

"I would be honored to work beside Megatron. And...what's a gestalt?"

"Come, I will show you. Two bots have already agreed and they will be happy to meet you. They are in need of a leader and have lost everything that matters to them as well. You will all forge a new bond, one of brothers, to aid you in healing," Shockwave explained as he led Onslaught off the battlefield.

The blue truck paused only to say good-bye, unable to smelt the frames of his creators as he had no idea where they were in the mass of gray spattered with blue and pink. Regardless of whether they were smelted or not, he would give Red and Champion the respect and love they deserved. He stood straight and offered them a final salute before he turned his back to the field and walked away.

***

Onslaught came to after the gestalt bond had been created and knew instantly he would have a great deal of work to do with the bots he had been paired with. Each and every one of them was hurting in some way and he needed to understand how before he could fully gain their trust. They tried to shut him out now, but he would plan and strategize before making a move. They would have to be handled carefully, but he was the leader. He would find a way.

Brawl and Swindle seemed like they would be easiest to work with first. They were both hurting, but they were strong and had used minor means of covering the hurt. The degree of damage was not as severe as Blast Off and Vortex. The helicopter mech would be the greatest challenge, seeing that his processor was not all there anymore. Apparently he had fallen as a sparkling and damaged his head, but no one was sure, nor were they inclined to ask if it was true.

'I have a lot of work to do, but I'm sure I can manage it. These bots can be repaired and I will be the one to do it,' he promised himself, the blue mech already plotting a plan of search and rescue for each of his gestalt mates and brothers.

***

Megatron had asked him to stay behind after he introduced his gestalt, his golden optical visor turning to gaze at the gladiator turned warlord. He was a powerful mech, meant for heavy work in the mines. He beckoned Onslaught closer with one hand, the truck answering the summons without fail. If it was loyalty to the cause Megatron wanted, he just just found the perfect mech. Onslaught noticed the door to the throne room was shut and no one else was present, but he didn't let that get the best of his nerves.

He felt a hand on his wrist and instantly tensed, readying himself for a fight. Megatron simply tugged him forward into his lap, Onslaught's optical visor bright with surprise.

"My Lord?"

"I would like you to pledge your loyalty in a way that is only fitting. You have taken my faction's mark, yes, but you have not yet given yourself to me," Megatron explained, feeling the nervousness rolling off of Onslaught's frame in waves as he struggled not to straddle his black plates hips. "Will you give yourself to me, Onslaught? Will you be one of my most loyal soldiers?", he added in a whisper, rugged faceplate coming close to his and lips brushing his audio receptor. Onslaught shuddered but didn't pull away.

"Yes, Lord Megatron. I am yours to do with as you wish."

Megatron was not a mech to waste time. The moment he got the green light from Onslaught his spike panel opened to reveal a healthy, turgid length. Onslaught stared at the spike for a moment, looking at the sharp tip and the slightly weeping slit. Megatron smirked, holding him with ease under his arms and positioning the blue mech better.

"Open and we can begin."

Onslaught hesitated for only a moment before exposing his never used valve, the folds soft and virgin as could be. Megatron rumbled softly at the warm scent his olfactory sensors picked up on when the valve was exposed, his spike twitching and further engorging with energon to stiffen it.

"Oh, look at you...," Megatron growled, pawing at Onslaught's untouched heat. Onslaught squeaked a tiny bit, hips shifting out of reach. "Such a handsome mech, Onslaught! I assume you are still sealed?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then we will do this in my private quarters."

Megatron growled louder with arousal and carried Onslaught into a back room connected to the throne area, settling him on a clean but not overly decorated berth. The mesh blankets were a warm red, but nothing royal. The warlord easily draped himself over Onslaught and lined his spike up with a slowly lubricating valve. The truck mech whimpered, hands curling unto the sheets as he was too fearful to touch his leader and anger him.

"I do not break easily, Onslaught. You may touch me," Megatron said, leaning down and claiming Onslaught in a deep yet surprisingly passionate kiss.

While he had his glossa shoved between Onslaught's jaws and his attention fully on the pleasure of the kiss, he gave a jerk with his hips and drove his spike into the tightness of a new valve, the first seal broken through with ease. He heard a muffled cry from Onslaught and felt his frame tense up, the silver mech waiting until it relaxed just enough to thrust even deeper and tear the deeper seal only a few inches from the gestation chamber. That got another stifled sound of pain and some thrashing limbs, but he held Onslaught steady until he once again relaxed.

"There! Now you belong to me alone, Onslaught, my loyal soldier. There is no need to fear me."

Megatron started a relatively slow but firm pace, breaking Onslaught in while taking pleasure for himself. Onslaught was mewling and gasping, hands scrabbling against his partner's shoulder and side plating. He had no idea what he was doing, the pressure and slight pain combined with strange new bliss making him wild. His legs curled around Megatron's powerful waist and he pulled closer.

"Nnnggh...faster...M'lord...M-Mega-aaaah!-tron!"

Megatron chuckled and did as was asked, thrusting harder and jamming himself into the virgin mech. Onslaught actually squealed at one point, silky valve protoflesh clamping down around Megatron's bludgeon of a spike as he overloaded around him. A new dribble of clear lubricant coated the firm length, easing the slight friction as the two coupled.

Onslaught relaxed when he heard a loud growl from Megatron and felt a burst of new fluid get shot into his greedy virgin slit. Thankfully his gestation chamber was left alone, the transfluid getting trapped between it and a tied spike. Like canines they were locked together for a short time, both nestled together in the red blankets.

Megatron made sure not to put more strain on Onslaught with the weight of his frame as he moved himself off the mech's chassis and rolled them onto their sides. There he mouthed and bit at Onslaught's neck and jawline, keeping his mind off the uncomfortable pressure that had been created between his legs.

"You have pleased me greatly, Onslaught. Welcome to the Decepticons," Megatron purred, molten red optics locking with a golden optical visor.

Onslaught's exposed faceplate morphed into a smile, the mech knowing his future would be a good one among the ranks. Long live the Decepticons! The chant bounced around in his helm, Onslaught never having felt so proud to be a part of something so glorious.


	7. The Past ~ Swindle

Swindle was lost in the masses of unfamiliar plating and colors, realizing it was over. When someone finally grabbed ahold of him, he would be dead. The small mech dashed between the arms of an enemy soldier who attempted to grab him, making a mad dash for the edge of the battlefield and the sheltering woods beyond.

The tan and purple bot came so close to freedom, just breaking free of the main group when someone shot the right side of his faceplate. His purple optic shattered and he crashed into the ground, chunks of field grass and dirt sent flying. Swindle hissed in pain and got to his hands and knees only to be rewarded with a fierce shock to the nape of his neck.

He screeched and jerked as the taser did its job, putting him under with one last volt of electricity. The jeep slumped, his limp frame collected later by some passing Autobots. Swindle knew nothing of his removal from the field, mind and spark intent on battling the painful memories he held.

***

"Get rid of them. We can't afford a litter right now, certainly not a big one like this."

"But they're just sparklings! Shouldn't we try a little harder?"

"Get rid of them."

The Carrier's blue optics saddened while the Sire shook his head and took the mechlings one by one out of their shared crib. The bots lived in the slums of Gygax and neither could care for the six creations they had made together. Unable to afford firewalls, they had been taking risks with interfacing until at last the worse case possible occurred. Lightning got knocked up and neither of their jobs could pay for the extra mouths.

"Here, I'll do it," the Sire said, amethyst optics stern as he grabbed a box from old energon cubes and padded it with a few dirty blankets from the shoddily made crib. "Busy yourself with something else and I'll take care of the little ones."

"Fastline, wait-"

"We tried, Lightning. We tried. But now we have to give them a better chance somewhere else. Just...trust me on this," the tan armored truck said, hoping his mate would understand and agree. He loved the sparklings too, but there was nothing to be done. They just couldn't feed them any more.

"But they're old enough to know who we are! We can't abandon them!" the sedan type nearly sobbed, blue optics meeting purple and watering. Fastline snarled softly and looked away.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

He placed the sedan and small truck type sparklings into their new box, grabbing their purple and tan favorite next. For a moment he hesitated, but then put the mechling down beside his bothers. His name was Swindle and he was their most loved. Sadly they couldn't even afford to keep one sparkling, but if they had been able to it would have been him.

Swindle peeped cutely, royal purple optics meeting those of his Sire's with a brightness of innocence and love only a sparkling could offer. Fastline couldn't look, also feeling washer fluid tears were immanent. Unwilling to look so weak beside his mate, he quickly wrote a message for the side of the box.

"There! 'Free to a good home.' That should get them somewhere," Fastline said, Lightning too upset to agree. Venting softly, Fastline promised he would return soon and hurried off, the box clutched in his hands.

The streets were busy and he forced himself not to run as he reached the best corner of the low class area. There he stopped and slowly lowered the box onto the sidewalk where no one would run into the little ones or crush them under wheels or tank treads.

Swindle squeaked again at his Sire, not understanding what was going on. He hauled himself up on his shaky pedes and clung to the side of the box, peeping louder and louder to get the attention he was looking for. Fastline felt the tears escape now, wiping them away before kneeling down beside the mechling and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Sire and Carrier love you, little Swindle. Do great things. Now you'll have a chance to live and we only want the best for you. Sadly this is the best we can offer," Fastline said softly, feeling tiny hands curling around the sides of his faceplate with affection. Swindle had no idea what this meant or what the words spoken to him were saying.

The armored truck pulled away and forced himself to leave the box and the sparklings behind. He needed to go back and care for his mate.

Swindle watched his Sire go and started to make fussy sparkling sounds. The whines soon turned into wails of a distraught creature. The other five joined in the sounds of misery, most having been asleep for the ride over to the street corner. The sounds of distress brought quite a few bots, but none picked up a free sparkling. There was no reason to.

Finally two femmes approached, one a handsome white and gold while the other was a tael and gray. Each looked like they were some high class bots passing through on their way back to Polyhex. They cooed when they saw the little creations inside the box much like one would when they saw mechanimal puppies for sale.

"We should give one a good home, don't you think?"

"What if there's something wrong with them?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can get a medic to take care of any troubles they have! Come on, let's pick one and help the poor thing out. We have more than enough credits to do so," the gold and white femme said, reaching down and picking up the best looking mechling of the group.

He was a red and silver sedan mechling, the biggest of his kind in the litter. He clung to the femme when she pulled him to her curved chassis, churring softly instead of crying when he was rocked a bit. Swindle made a loud cry when the femmes started to go, taking his brother with them. Why weren't they all going together?

Swindle and the others were left behind once again, huddling up together now that one of their own was gone. It was horrifying for them to be outside with no Sire or Carrier in sight, all having to take comfort in each other until they were brought back home-wherever that was.

***

The others found homes, bots all saying the same thing when they first approached the box. 'Free to a good home?', and 'who would leave sparklings out in this weather?'. Swindle was still left, too small and uninteresting to be picked. He and his last brother were the runts of the litter, the sickly sedan mechling curled in his corner of the box under some blanket folds.

"That one's sick! We need to get him to a medic!" a bot's voice called, Swindle waking suddenly to see hands reaching into the box. He squeaked and opened his arms to them only to see his brother being pulled out of the box. The sedan mechling sniffled and curled against the chassis of a large shuttle mech.

Once again Swindle was left behind, the last of the litter. He sobbed, sitting clumsily in the middle of the box. Watery purple optics stared as bots came to see what the noise was, then leave again. No one wanted the last of a litter. No one.

Acid rain began to fall next, the mechling's cries getting even louder and more desperate. Hiding under the blankets did him good until the blankets were melted away by the acid, leaving his thin sparkling plating out in the harsh environment. Swindle bawled, trying to clamber out of the box only to tumble back down inside, everything on his frame hurting when he moved.

Then the miracle happened. Black hands curled around his frame and pulled him from the dreaded box, a deep voice accompanying the gesture as he sheltered the tan and purple mechling. Swindle felt them moving, clinging with all his might to the frame that was keeping him close.

"The last one left. Such a pity. But I know a bot who would love to keep you safe and give you a chance. His name is Shockwave, little one. And I am Lord Megatron," the rumbling voice said, blazing red optics meeting purple. They glimmered and Swindle liked them, reaching up to try and touch the vibrant color. "Let me introduce you to Shockwave and your new brothers."

And with that said Lord Megatron, leader of the Decepticon faction, brought Shockwave the second to last mechling he needed for the promised gestalt. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together and he was pleased, knowing they would soon have the warrior he so desired.


	8. The Past ~ Swindle

Swindle grew up and learned. He was not a stupid mech and picked up on things quickly. Being small he was not the strongest to the group, but he was the smartest. His mind worked in ways that bots could barley compete with, calculations with numbers his very strongest ability. Not many knew, but he figured it was best to keep such things to himself until they were needed.

The solar cycle he learned what 'free' meant, he hated the word from that moment on. To him there would never be anything free. If someone wanted something from him, they would have to pay for it. Otherwise free things were worth nothing. It brought a terrible fury to his spark to know he had been one of those free items left out on the street, Shockwave having told him what he had been and who had found him. Swindle felt loyalty to Lord Megatron, but he was hardly interested in the war effort as he was. No, he had found more productive ways to spend his time.

Swindle was a mech who could sell merchandise. The moment he was old enough, he was out of their special hangar in Kaon and out in the streets. He got his hands on energon cubes and rationed them from his own shares to resell, he acquired weapons from shady connections he made in the streets, and he sold some of the best crystal drugs credits could buy.

His gestalt brothers didn't seem to find interest in what he was selling, but he didn't much care. There were many others outside their brotherhood who were willing to pay top dollar for whatever he had in his growing wares. Swindle's subspace was modified four times until he was finally pleased with the space it held, filling it with all sorts of organized items.

"Swindle, come back inside now. It grows late," Shockwave said simply when he finally left the hangar and his attached laboratory to speak with the tan and purple jeep on the street corner. Two rust covered mechs went trotting away from the area with special Coro-Stop vials specified to their strain of infection. It brought a smile-albeit a sleazy one-to Swindle's faceplate as he counted the credits. No money was better than what he got from desperate bots.

"I have more work to do, Shockwave. I'll be in later," Swindle said, glancing down the settling street. There were a great deal of ways to make money, but not all were commonly acceptable.

Shockwave nodded once and left Swindle where he was. Vortex was causing trouble inside as usual and Blast Off was shouting. Primus knew what Onslaught was doing to help, but either way Shockwave had to be the voice of reason and hush them all.

"Do not stay out long."

Swindle hardly glanced at Shockwave when the mech plodded back inside the hangar where they had been staying. Megatron had been generous and given them a large area connected to Shockwave's laboratory, but Swindle thought it foolish. Never be generous and never give away anything. Everything in the galaxies had a price and he'd be damned before he ever got something free or gave it away.

"Is this the little jeep I picked out?" a baritone voice called as its owner came wandering over from across the street.

Swindle turned and saw it was the tank. The mech was medium sized for one of his kind, right around forty tons or so. He was gray and black, nothing special but certainly a friendly thing. Usually tanks were temperamental and nasty, but Blacksteel seemed content to just be a bot and have some company.

"It is indeed," Swindle called, meeting the tank halfway and leading them off to the room he had booked. "What are you interested in tonight?"

"Just someone to share a drink with. After Ozone left I'm pretty lonely," Blacksteel said softly, looking at his pedes at his former mate.

"I won't charge you extra to share the berth. You're a handsome mech and it would be an honor to make you feel better," Swindle said, reaching up and rubbing under the massive bot's chin the way he liked. Blacksteel purred deeply and leaned into the touch, midnight blue optics dulling with pleasure.

"Sounds good to me. You're a nice mech, Swindle. If you weren't so tiny I'd ask you to be my mate."

"And if I were your type I would certainly say yes."

Swindle smirked slightly at that. He would never want a tank as a mate, but he wouldn't tell his customer that! Rudeness never made extra credits. Being sweet and playing up to whatever bots wanted was the way to survive and thrive in wartime.

"How does one-hundred credits for the night sound? I have to tack on if you intend to do kinky slag or use toys."

"Just a nice 'face is all I really want. That and some cuddling when it's over. So one-hundred it is!"

Blacksteel passed over the credit chip as they entered the building, the tank pushing bots out of the way so none stepped on Swindle. Some liked him, others hated him. He was a known con artist now and not all the bots he had worked with enjoyed the business and hard deals. The black and gray bot waited for Swindle to lead the way once they got to the hallway of rooms on the first floor of the inn.

"Right this way, Blacksteel my friend! I made sure we got a spacious area and I think it will do nicely," Swindle said, using the key code he had to open the door to a tank sized room. Blacksteel lit up at the sight of the large berth, entering before Swindle.

"This is great!"

"Only the best for one of my favorite customers!"

Blacksteel went right to the berth, not wasting any time. Tanks were known for tempers as well as their short but intense interfacing. They were not built for endurance, so foreplay before was of little interest. Frags lasted about a breem or less, not many making it past that. For Swindle it was an easy job, one he didn't have to stand for long and got overpaid for. Blacksteel liked to leave tips and was stupid enough to be fooled into a 'deal' the little jeep came up with each time.

The tank's spike was standing proudly outside of the cover a few moments after he got settled in, the rod quite impressive in girth as well as length. The tip was sharp but not terribly so, a sign he was not perfect Sire material. Swindle thankfully had no interest in litters. Unless things made him credits, he didn't care. As he stalked over he let his valve cover slide back and reveal his soft tan valve, the swollen folds already glistening with silvery-clear lubricant.

Blacksteel could smell the heady scent and purred deeply, spike twitching in anticipation of what was to come. He waited patiently for Swindle to get on the berth, but was quick to pull him to his lap and hold him above the waiting breeding organ.

"You ready?"

"I am at your service, Blacksteel. When YOU are ready, we can begin."

Swindle gasped as the black and gray spike pushed between his valve folds and got jammed into him as far as it could go without breaking the gestation chamber wall. Blacksteel was making all sorts of happy tank noises as he bounced Swindle against his thighs with powerful bucks of his hips. Metal clanked and occasionally screeched as the two fragged, Blacksteel's faceplate molding into a warm smile.

He flipped Swindle onto his back and pounded him then, huffing and grunting as he finished up and finally overloaded. Swindle covered a look of disgust as the mech shot him full of transfluid, probably a gallon or more with the size of his one night partner and the intense pressure between his legs. Blacksteel was mouthing and licking at him, sated and happy.

Little did the tank know Swindle was there for something other than a frag. He had been commissioned by another bot to kill the tank. Apparently he had murdered an unknown bot's friend in a bar one lunar cycle and the surviving mech wanted permanent payback. He had been offered six thousand credits to get the job done and had readily accepted.

"How about we share these? I brought some mercury truffles," Swindle offered, one row of the candies laced with spark stopping poison.

"Those look good! Sure, we can share them! Here, I'll feed you one," Blacksteel said, petting Swindle's helm before he took one of the poisoned truffles and held it out to the jeep. "I don't mind a little finger biting, so do your worst!"

Swindle went cold. He couldn't have that one! It would destroy him! Panicking, Swindle refused the offering entirely.

"How about we pick a different one? It doesn't look too good to me."

Blacksteel might have been a tank and not the smartest creation in the world, but he knew when something was wrong. He put the candy back in the open tin and glared Swindle down. They were tired together after their interface, but for the tank that was probably a good thing now. Swindle couldn't get away.

"Who sent you? Who wants me dead, little mech?" he growled deeply, hand smacking the candies away. Swindle stiffened, valve clenching down hard around the half flaccid spike.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I-"

"WHO IS IT?!" Blacksteel snarled, grabbing Swindle's neck in a death grip.

"It was a purple and red mech! He didn't say he had a name, but he offered credits and I took the offer!" Swindle yelped, thrashing against the mech's frame.

"So it's him. I should have known he would be a problem. Gotta kill him before he kills me, huh?" the big tank growled, shifting under Swindle while the jeep shivered against his thick armored chest plates.

"You'll let me go, right?"

"Yep. But I want you to keep the candies."

"Got it! And I'll make things free the next time for you! It's a once in a lifetime offer!"

Blacksteel just glared, waiting until he could safely pull Swindle off of his spike and set him on the berth.

"There will be no second time. There are a lot of other bots out there I could bed that don't intend to kill me."

With that said Blacksteel plodded out of the room, wiping his spike off of fluids and tucking it back behind the cover as he went. Swindle lay against the berth and felt washer fluid well up in his optics. Primus, he had never been so close to dying before! That bot could have so easily crushed him had he decided he wanted to!

The con artist spent the rest of the night in the room alone, washing himself in the attached rack and trying to recover from his ordeal. His life was going to be a hard one, but at least he was ready for it now. Blacksteel had been a reality check for him, something that he had badly needed apparently. From that moment on he would never allow anyone to get that close. He lived only to make credits and win the great game of business.


	9. The Past ~ Brawl

A trine of tank mechlings were born, bringing smiles to their creators. While most would be beaming with pride at what they had made together out of love, these bots were grinning out of power. They were gladiators and their young would follow in their footsteps. They would train the tiny warriors to kill. Tanks were the number-one destroyer on the fields of war and Megatron would reward them well for producing more soldiers.

"They're going to be our little killers! Just look at how big they are!" the dark green and brown Sire declared, bright orange optics focused on the mechlings as they mewled and fussed in their blankets. The Black and tan Carrier snickered happily.

"They'll be just what Megatron ordered! We should get another litter going right after they get old enough. He's paying breeders, you know! We might actually be able to afford a way out of here," the Carrier said not wanting to get dragged into a war. He loved his mate too much to endanger him. By staying in Kaon, they were risking their lives. While he hated to turn in sparklings of their own making for Megatron, they had to if they ever wanted to have a chance of a real family and life.

"We need to give them tough names. Megatron will like that and it might give them a better chance out there if they sound as intimidating as they look!" the Sire said, examining each of their young as he tried to envision appropriate names.

"Let's use fighting words. Like Brawl and Destroyer and stuff like that."

"Sounds good to me! Since you carried them all, you should name the first."

The Carrier nodded once, checking over each of the three mechlings. The miniature tanks stared at him, the one that looked like a copy of his mate catching his optic. The mechling was dark green and brown with a shocking orange visor.

"This one will be Brawl. It suits him."

Brawl peeped and burbled as he was picked up by his Sire soon after naming and was cradled to his chassis, the warmth radiating off of hard armor plates pleasing to the sparkling. He was soon in recharge, unknowing as to what his creators had planned for his brothers and himself.

***

Brawl cried when he was swatted over with a training sword, the youngling falling on his aft and starting to tear up. His powerful Sire stood over him while his Carrier stood behind to help him up. He felt arms hold his sides and prop him back up on his somewhat unsteady pedes, Brawl's arms waving around as he tried to reach for his Carrier.

"Keep training, little Brawl. We need you to be strong for us," his Carrier murmured into his audio receptor, nudging him forward towards his mean looking Sire. Brawl thought he was mean, anyways. He was always scowling and had the appearance even behind his battle mask.

"But I don't wanna..."

"Listen to your Carrier!" his Sire boomed, voice laced with danger.

Brawl took up the heavily padded weapon and swung it at his Sire, the gesture hardly aggressive. The youngling didn't want to fight, crying again when he got knocked down onto the floor. He was sore and only wanted to be hugged right then.

"Caaaarieeer!" Brawl started wailing, dropping his weapon as he stumbled over to the larger tank. Brawl's Sire glared when his mate picked up Brawl and cradled him, unwilling to see that the little bot was still a youngling and not the fighting machine he had hoped for-not yet.

***

Brawl had grown up and learned what fighting was all about. The solar cycle his Sire had killed a bot in the streets who attempted to rob them had taught that in order to survive, one had to destroy others. Now it made perfect sense to the massive tank, his bright orange visor gleaming as he sat inside the waiting chamber of the gladiator arena. His opponent was somewhere on the other side, most likely shivering in anticipation and fear. Brawl had only lost one match so far.

The tank cracked his knuckle joints and leaned back, his sword laid flat against his lap. The weapon was no pretty thing, not decorated or engraved in any special pattern. The same went for the shield, the item just a slab of metal made into a typical shape for defending oneself. He felt no need for ornaments as they were not practical and reminded him of the things Nobles would do.

Brawl's dentas grit at the very idea of Nobles, more unsavory things he despised popping up in his head after that. There were many things in the world Brawl hated as he had grown up learning that was 'the right thing to do.' Sometimes he wondered if his Carrier was right after all or just plain weak. He didn't seem to hate as much as his Sire did. That mech was a rather dark sort and always found something to loathe.

The mech snapped out of his before-fighting thoughts when the sound of the hunting horn was blown and the rickety metal door of his holding cell started to slide open. He rose from where he sat and gripped his sword, squeezing the hilt like he would the neck of an enemy. His shield was held up against his chest with his other arm, the mech moving out of the small room in a relaxed guard stance.

Cheers went up around him, but he ignored it. Whether they were shouting for him or his opponent, he didn't much care. All he wanted to think of now was how to defeat the mech standing across from him. The bot appeared to be an armored truck model, a deep orange and tan. Both sized up the other, searching for weak spots before it even began.

Brawl made the first move, never one to listen to the 'never attack first,' rule. He didn't give two slags about that. If the battle was to be won, he had to make a move and get it over with. Brawl grunted as he swung his sword low and punched upwards with his shield, catching the armored van's heavy chin in an uppercut. The bot reeled back, recovering behind his shield from the sting.

'That's just a taste of what I'm gonna to do to you,' Brawl thought as he spun on the bot to make another move.

Bellowing, Brawl charged again when the armored van lost some balance and leaned too far to his right. His shield moved and created just enough of an opening for a good strike zone. As quick as a tank could run, Brawl did so and drove his blade between side plates. Energon welled from the wound when he ripped the sword from the mech's side, the bot crying out and staggering away.

Brawl took a few hits during the battle, but nothing serious like his opponent. The tank tried his best not to kill him, but in the end he got too excited and too aggressive. One 'wrong' swipe of the sword and he had felled the van for good. The mech twitched a few times on the dirty ground of the arena and drown in his own energon when it gushed into his vents.

The crowd did love a good death match, so they rose from their seats and started howling and whooping for him. Brawl roared back, raising his sword and shield high in answer. He was their champion for the solar cycle and he reveled in it, understanding exactly how Megatronus had felt after his many battles. Some would never understand, but he always would.

'We're all fighters and we gotta stick together and keep bashing in faceplates,' Brawl thought as he lumbered back to the waiting room build into the side of the arena. Cheers followed even after the door slid shut.

Brawl was busy wiping off the energon that had gotten in between his seams and didn't notice the approach of another gladiator. He glanced up when he heard the tap of a pede and went stiff with shock. His optical visor had come to meet the burning red optics of Megatron himself, the mech standing tall and proud even in the dim lights of the arena bowels.

"Megatron!" Brawl exclaimed stupidly, at a loss for words at the sudden arrival. Megatron only smiled, the former gladiator turned warlord offering a hand. Brawl didn't take it, but he understood the gesture.

"You fought well today, Brawl. And as it so happens, I have a place in my ranks for you if you wish to leave the arena as I did. I am in need of bots like you."

"I'd be honored to kill for you! The Autobots won't know what hit them! Frag, yeah! I'll make them all drown in their energon like I did with that bot out there!"

Brawl's volume levels went up when he got excited and the tank was essentially shouting when he finally finished his little tirade of violent thoughts. Megatron made a rumbling laugh at the whole display, pleased with the mech. A typical tank, he would be a great addition to the Combaticon group. He would be the last one needed to complete Bruticus.

"I am sure you will. You will become one of the Combaticon team. You will have brothers, but I have heard you have some already. It will not be a hard transition for you and I think you will find yourself happier in such an environment. Fighting runs in your energon lines, doesn't it." Megatron stated, a smirk now curling on his lips.

"Sure does! I was trained to fight the click I could stand!"

"Then come with me, Brawl. We have much to do." Megatron urged, motioning Brawl forward as they made their way thought the underground maze of the arena.

***

Brawl didn't like them much. The others bots were strange. Vortex was constantly bothering him, Blast Off hated everyone much like his Sire had, Onslaught was a gruff leader full of tactical plans and always said things Brawl's simple mind couldn't hope to understand, and Swindle was a greasy little con mech who was purely out for himself. There was really no gestalt brother that made him want to open up or form any sort of a bond with.

He mostly kept the gestalt bond closed as well. The green and brown tank felt no need to let everyone know he was hurting a bit and somewhat lonely inside. They all saw the vicious outer appearance he held and the nasty attitude, so that would have to be enough. Getting inside and knowing his feelings was giving them too much trust.

'The moment I let anyone in, I will be weak. So I will never do it. Nuh-uh. It'll be all about me and fighting. That's all I need.' Brawl told himself as he settled into his berth for the night after a long day of training as Bruticus. The bond had to be open then, but everyone had quickly shut themselves away after the transformation was finished.

Sometimes he lay awake wondering if they felt the same way, too, but he tried not to dwell on it. He was supposed to be stronger than that. Growling softly to himself and muttering some curses, the tank mech finally settled down. Whatever happened from there on out was fine with him so long as he went down fighting-with the echo of cheers from times past surrounding him and the faint memory of warm Carrier arms holding him tight.


	10. The Present ~ Vortex

Vortex woke with a start when he felt himself being laid out on something soft, his optical visor flaring back online. He focused damaged optics with some difficulty, trying to figure out where he was and what was going on. He finally managed to get a good picture of the situation, having taken in all the smells and sounds to realize it was a medical bay.

"This one is pretty beat up. Have fun, Ratchet," a voice unknown to Vortex said, the unnamed Autobot leaving soon after he dropped off the bot. The helicopter mech hissed softly when he saw a red and white bot approaching with a aluminum tray of tools, not liking what he was seeing.

"None of that hissing! I'm not afraid to put you right in a muzzle," the gruff voice of Ratchet said, the head medical officer having known he was taking on the one of the most demanding and troublesome of his new patients. Vortex curled his upper lip back behind his face mask and flexed his claws. The motion was sluggish due to his poor condition and energon loss, but he made his intentions known. 'Come any closer and I'll claw you,' was his universal, unspoken message.

"Stop that." Ratchet snapped, swatting at one of the hands as Vortex tried to slash at him. The grey and blue mech hissed again and tensed up to kick.

Ratchet vented heavily and pinned Vortex down by his shoulders. Holding him tightly, the medic motioned First Aid over to help him. The smaller ambulance wheeled over an IV stand and got it set up to put Vortex partially under for his repairs.

The helicopter watched things for a few moments, relaxing and giving Ratchet the false sense of hope that he would behave. Then when the moment was just right, Vortex made his move. He used all the strength he had to kick Ratchet in the side and knock his hands off. Once he was free, the mech flung himself off the medical berth and scampered for the door.

"Shut down the waiting room!" Ratchet ordered, giving chase as First Aid leapt out of the way.

Vortex was panting heavily from the rush of adrenaline and the taxation on his already fatigued frame, his optics behind the visor wild as he searched for another exit. He heard the locking of the waiting room doors and shot towards a window as a last resort, unwilling to get trapped in an even smaller room. Medical drones and some of Ratchet's other assistants got out of his way as he rushed by, fearful the mech would attack them next.

The Combaticon threw himself at the window in a lame attempt to break through it, the effort giving him more pain and disorienting him. Vortex slid onto the floor with a groan, barely finding the energy to roll out of the way when Ratchet made a grab for him. Scrambling across the floor on hands and knees for a brief moment, Vortex made a last dash for a place to hide. If he couldn't be grabbed, he could rest up and make another attempt at escape later.

Ratchet swore when he saw the troublesome Decepticon throw himself under some half-built medical cabinets. The helicopter holed himself up in there, back pressed against the wall as he used the walls of the cabinets to shield him. Vortex inched backwards when Ratchet tried to grab him by his collar guard and drag him out, the mech narrowly avoiding being captured again.

"No touching please," Vortex said, snickering a bit at that as he curled up tight and tried to ignore the stinging in his middle.

"First Aid, tend to the others. I need to get this one," Ratchet called, kneeling down and boldly moving as far as he could into the safe haven Vortex had found for himself. "Come out, you little scraplet, or I'll get my wrench and my dart gun."

Vortex hissed again and clawed at Ratchet's hand when it nearly reached him, yet again trying to press as far back into the deep cabinet as he could. The medic swore under his breath, but didn't give up like Vortex had been hoping. He was determined to get the helicopter out and under control.

The medics winced when there was a loud shrieking snarl from the new battleground within the med bay, Vortex finally caught. Ratchet kept a firm hold on the back of the mech's neck, pressing his thumb into the pressure point to keep Vortex from being much of a threat. His frame went limp as he hissed and cursed at Ratchet, wishing he could do something to defend himself.

"There. Now you're going to behave whether you want to or not. Just let us do our jobs, 'Con. If there are any bots out there you can trust now, it would be us. We took an oath and we don't kill." Ratchet explained, dragging a reluctant mech out of his hiding place.

Vortex growled and fussed, digging his clawed digits into Ratchet's arm seams as he was manhandled back across the room and onto a berth. Ratchet kept a firm hold on his nape, refusing to lose track of him again. Once he had the bot under control, he and a few others kept him still while an IV was finally inserted. Vortex made a huge amount of noise at that, thrashing and cursing until the sedatives calmed him down.

"That's it...now stay down," Ratchet grunted, glad to send his workers away when Vortex's frame slumped against the cot, limp and groggy. "You're a Pit of a fighter. I haven't had to chase a bot across the room in a long time."

Ratchet made sure Vortex was getting the appropriate amount of medicine before he numbed the open wound on the bot's side and got to work. There was an occasional whimper when he hit a particularly sore spot, but that was the only sound Vortex was capable of making.

"And now for your hideous faceplate..."

Ratchet gruffly worked on repairing the cracked optical visor, glad it wasn't too severe. Optics were a pain to fix when they were damaged since they were so complex inside. Vortex barely knew he was being spoken to, unfocused and quiet as he was repaired.

Soon he felt himself being moved again, wheeled out of the medical bay to some other place. He was slowly waking up, the IV since taken out for the changing of scenery. Vortex clawed at the hands that started lifting him, trying to hold on not out of viciousness but out of fear of being dropped.

"Rest and don't try to stand. These cells aren't big enough for that."

Vortex felt himself being lowered and then left in a pile of mesh blankets. He saw after some hard moments of concentration through a drug-fogged mind that the bot who had moved him was Ratchet, the ambulance already standing at the door of a small, cage-like cell. Light bars went up and Vortex felt his tanks sink. He was trapped for sure now with no hope of escape.

Before Ratchet left, the recovering mech made a tiny sound of what could only be misery and curled up inside the folds of blankets. Ratchet shook his head and stalked back to his med bay. There was a pang of sorrow for the poor bot, having heard and seen how crazy Vortex could be. He probably had no idea what he was doing, just a victim of some processor damage. Either way, Ratchet couldn't allow himself to feel sorry for long. Vortex had killed many and was still a Decepticon, albeit a defeated one.

'So they don't deserve second chances now? Why did you tell Optimus you thought they did at the meeting, then?!' Ratchet said silently as he went back to work. Vortex would not be his problem much longer. Once he was healed and strong enough to walk out of there, Prowl and the others would bring him to some new prison.

Convincing himself it was not his problem, Ratchet returned to his duties amongst the med bay.

***

Vortex didn't shut up. Once he was awake, he started shouting for someone to let him out. He began with threats that if they didn't, he would bring them all to Pit, but he soon turned less aggressive when that didn't work and started howling for someone to save him instead.

No one came to feed him the first solar cycle, none willing to get involved. Ratchet was too busy and didn't care if there was some extra noise in the background. The med bay was busy anyway, so a little more ruckus was not too much to handle. Some of the assistants thought it was irritating and sad, but none went to fix the problem. So Vortex continued on, shouting until his vocalizer shorted out.

Ratchet was one of the last to leave the med bay that lunar cycle, cleaning off some tools in sterile solution and setting them out to dry. He turned to go when his audio receptors caught the croaking calls of the helicopter, the sounds of a trapped mech full of fury and fear. He found it in himself to ignore it, wanting to reward Vortex for silence, not his screaming.

The whole time Vortex was given no attention, the mech took it upon himself to cause trouble. He threw himself at the light bars in some strange attempt to escape and shrieked when his plating sizzled and melted at the touch. Hissing as he retreated, Vortex curled up in his pile of rumpled blankets and glared at the bars. Vile things, how dare they burn him!

Vortex rolled onto his side and started picking at the mesh patch that was wrapped around his torso, claws scraping at it until he got purchase and started ripping it away. The medics had put it on him so the deep blast wound would self repair the rest of the way, but he didn't care. It was itchy and he had nothing better to do than take it off.

"Mean Autobots...They'll have to redo this! Maybe I can set it on fire, too..."

Vortex giggled happily when he pulled off the last of the mesh and revealed an open wound, protoflesh and inner wiring exposed and oozing with some pinkish-tinted fluids. Like a human wound that was draining, his frame was doing much the same thing. The mesh would have helped keep corrosion and rust away, but Vortex had little interest in being careful.

The helicopter crawled over to the light bars and pushed the mesh into it, squeaking once with glee when he saw the item burst into flames. His optical visor brightened at the sight, leaning closer as he watched the flames dance across the fabric and metal until it was gone, eaten away by the red and yellow heat.

His attention turned to the mesh blankets and a huge grin spread across his hidden lips. Those would be just as fun to watch burn...


	11. The Present ~ Brawl

Brawl groaned, aching all over as he came back online. Someone was hovering over him, a blue visor barely coming into view as his vision was partially damaged. Wheezing when he tried to move, he croaked out a pitiful sound and squirmed as best he could in a feeble escape attempt.

"No, no! Please don't move so much! You're hurt!"

The tank made a soft sound of refusal and weakly pushed a hand away that tried to touch his faceplate. His vents were damaged badly and it was a struggle to get intakes. But he managed, always the fighter. The medic above him pulled back, regrouping to think about how he wanted to approach his new patient.

"You've got some damaged vents. I'm going to fix those first, okay? If you could please open your mouth for me and retract your face mask, that would be much appreciated!"

Brawl didn't want to listen, but he couldn't breathe, either. There was no choice but to obey and hope he wouldn't be harmed further. In a way it was good if someone was willing to patch him up-he would live to fight another solar cycle! With a reluctant, labored vent, Brawl parted his face mask and opened his mouth a tiny bit.

"Thank you for cooperating! I have to put a breathing tube in, but you're already half sedated so things should go smoothly," the medic said calmly, Brawl angry inside but unable to say anything against the idea. He did want to feel like he could breathe correctly again...

Brawl grunted when he felt hands on his faceplate pulling his mouth open. Next he felt a tube slide down his throat, gagging slightly. The dose of sedatives from an IV he hadn't felt were making him relaxed and prevented trouble with the insertion. And then, all of a sudden, he could vent again. The wheezing stopped and he was free.

Huffing quickly as if he had been held under oil for too long, the mech settled further on the medical cot. Now he felt a huge deal better! At least he knew the medics were humane and didn't do things roughly or force anything-at least not yet. They weren't like Hook.

"Try not to intake too quickly. Your breathing needs to calm so you don't hyperventilate. But you've done a great job so far! I hope I have your name right, so don't be mad if I get it wrong,...Brawl?"

Brawl nodded sluggishly to show he was correct. Yes, his designation was Brawl. But who was the little ambulance working on him? He wanted to know just so when he escaped he wouldn't kill him by accident. The bot seemed to know that was what he wanted and quickly supplied a name.

"I'm First Aid! Now please relax and I will repair the damage and your crushed vents."

Brawl rumbled quietly when he felt a rush of medicine enter his energon lines and pull him under, the warm embrace of sleep curling around him. He even felt himself smiling a little when a blue visor came into view before he went fully under. First Aid-he would be spared when the time came.

***

Brawl came to laying in a cell, light bars buzzing across the opening. He shifted slightly and found he had been given a great deal of mesh blankets and even some pillows. Wondering why the ceiling of the cell was so fragging low, the tank mech inwardly groaned when he heard Vortex's unmistakable cackling. Well, now he knew the rest of his gestalt brothers were around the med bay.

He checked the place he was being housed and growled at the low ceiling in anger. He couldn't hope to stand, so he was reduced to a mechanimal-like state, having to sit or crawl on hands and knees. Pathetic. Swearing up a storm, Brawl lay back against the multitude of comfy mesh blankets and tried to think.

'At least we're being treated well enough. We didn't have as many comforts in the Decepticon ranks. Pit, a mesh blanket was something to fight over. Now there's enough for the whole gestalt team in here!' Brawl thought, deciding he had to take what he could get. They might see him as a prisoner, but he refused to participate. He would pretend he was a fragging Noble with all sorts of servants to tend to him and hand over luxurious items.

"Brawl? Is that you I hear swearing?" Vortex called, the mech a couple cells down. Brawl huffed.

"Shut up, Vortex."

"So it is you! Brawl, let's play a game."

Silence.

"Braaaa~wl! Did you hear me? Let's play some naughty game of twenty questions!"

More silence.

"B-

"SHUT THE FRAG UP!" Brawl roared at the top of his vocalizer, the metal walls of the cell vibrating with his rage. He was pissed off to be caged and contained, so the little helicopter was not helping. The demon creature knew he was being a pain in the aft, too, which made it even worse for the easily aggravated tank.

Finally Vortex got the message and hushed, having to make his own fun. Whatever he was up to, Brawl didn't much care. So long as he was silent and gave him time to think, things would be fine. He tensed when he heard the door of the med bay brig (or wherever they were being held), open and the sounds of pedes clunked towards his cell.

"Hello, Brawl!" came the soft-spoken voice of First Aid. The smaller model mech knelt down and punched in a key code to put down the light bars while he spoke with the tank mech. "How are you feeling?"

"Like slag." Brawl snapped, trying to curl up and wincing. He hadn't even noticed he was wrapped up in a few mesh bandages and even sported a soft metal patch over his deepest wound. Everything ached now that his mind focused on it, Brawl beginning to hate First Aid for reminding him he was a broken thing discarded in a prison cell.

First Aid made a nervous laugh and quickly produced an energon cube from his subspace. A package of bite sized gelled energon appeared next, the young medic putting the offerings into the cell. Brawl noticed how his hand was shaking, the mech obviously terrified of him.

Too tired and sore to attempt scaring First Aid further, Brawl took some time to look down at the offerings. It was nice that they were feeding him more than just rations. He assumed with the war over, the Autobots were able to pass out their combined energon stores without worry. After all, according to many they had already found the way to make synthetic energon with no harmful effects.

'Now I get to see how it tastes. Slaggit all,' Brawl thought, glaring down at the food.

"What kind of poison did you put in it?"

First Aid looked truly appalled at that notion. "P-Poison?! No, no! We would never do that! We want you to recover! The war is over and we aren't out to kill. Killing...it's such a horrible thing."

"If the war is really over, why am I sitting inside a cage while you get to stare at me like some fragging zoo exhibit? Huh? You got an answer for that, little mech?" Brawl demanded, bright orange optical visor blazing. How dare the little twerp tell him the war was over and that they wanted him to recover! It was all a load of steaming slag.

First Aid backed away and put the light bars back up, fumbling with the key pad for a moment before he began twiddling his thumbs and nervously tapping his fingers together. It made Brawl laugh, the barking sound full of contempt.

"B-Brawl, please stay calm..."

"Listen to you! You're scared of me, aren't you? You know that if I was well I would have already torn you limb from slagging limb! You're smart for a little medic, First Aid. You know what kind of a bot I really am."

First Aid fled. Even if Brawl was contained, he was still terrifying. An ambulance against a forty ton tank was not going to be a fair battle on any level. Besides, First Aid was a pacifist. He hated death and killing and violence. Brawl was all of those things packed into a heavy warrior frame. Likely he knew nothing else other than fighting, but First Aid felt compelled to make everyone feel cared for and loved while under his supervision-even if they terrified him.

"Awww, you scared the cute little mech away! Why did you do that, Brawl?" Vortex whined from his cell further down the hall, the sounds of shuffling about and clanging when metal frame made contact against metal walls surprisingly loud.

"I told you to shut up already. So shut it. 'Your memory that bad?" Brawl demanded, snorting loudly. He hated Vortex. He hated First Aid. He fragging hated everyone.

"But I don't like to be quiet!"

'Trust me, I know,' Brawl thought, pulling a mesh pillow over his head in an attempt to drown out the irritating prattle of the deranged gestalt brother nearby. Maybe if he tried hard enough he could find relief in sleep...

***

Brawl woke with a loud moan, the mech rolling over onto his side and grabbing at the blankets. His patched middle and chest ached horribly and he needed some painkillers. Mind still fogged with sleep, he grunted a curse and slowly turned his head in the direction of the light bars. One of the medics would come if he called.

"First Aid!" he croaked, vocalizer weak and tired. "I need painkillers!"

"Uh-oh! Does big ol' Brawl have an ouchie?" Vortex laughed from his cell, the sounds of claws tapping on the metal floor keeping the silence at bay after he finished his taunt. Brawl wished he could have ignored all of Vortex's little quips, but he wasn't in any place to be calm.

"Shut the frag up and melt your neck in the light bars! Do us all a favor, you little glitch!" the tank mech shouted back, the noise finally getting someone to come in and see what was going on.

"Please no fighting! You're both gestalt brothers!" First Aid called out, rushing inside with his arms full of energon cubes and a tray with the painkiller on it.

"Ooooh, food!" Vortex yipped, rotors shuffling when two kinds of energon were pushed between light bars into his cell. That silenced him, the hungry mech hoarking down the offerings without another thought. With a Vortex taken care of, First Aid went to Brawl.

"I heard you yelling for a painkiller. Are the wounds sore?"

"Sore as a virgin getting a seal popped. So yeah. Where's the fragging stuff I need to take?" Brawl growled, vulgar and rude as usual. He was also quite loud even when speaking in a normal voice. Tanks were just like that.

"It's not a painkiller you swallow. I need to inject it into one of your main lines. Will you let me come into the cell? I want to warn you that if you try to harm me I can put you into stasis lock with a frequency command. You were all chipped when you were brought off the battlefield," First Aid explained as he got ready to put the bars down.

"You can come in. I'll refrain from beating the slag out of you."

First Aid looked more nervous than ever when the bars vanished and he inched into the cell. The low ceiling made it easier for more bots to be housed and kept them from getting into fighting stances when called on, but it was a tight fit for two in a single cell.

"Would you like it in your arm or your thigh?" First Aid asked, trying to be pleasant and treat his patient as he would any bot under his care. Brawl grunted.

He was about to say shoulder when he came up with a funny idea. If the little medic was so scared of him, he'd want to see him tremble when he touched his thigh. It would be amusing and surely torturous for First Aid, so he might as well go for it.

"Thigh," he answered, shifting on his side and giving First Aid a worse angle to reach.

'Yeah, that's right. Manhandle me and see if you can take it...'

"I can do that for you. Please hold still as it might pinch a bit. Actually, I will feel more comfortable if I can pin you slightly. I know it sounds strange but some bots thrash when getting injections and I would hate for the needle to be broken off in your frame."

"Sure, little bot. Go ahead. I know you want to lay all over me and see what a big powerful tank can do."

First Aid blushed slightly at that, the type of mech who stayed well away from interfacing of any kind. He pressed a surprisingly firm forearm down on the mech's neck and kept him still while he popped off the cap of the needle. With a knee pressed against Brawl's middle, First Aid leaned in and gently pressed two fingers between a hip and thigh plate.

Brawl growled softly, but made no move to attack as the medic checked for the main fuel line that ran through the area. He finally found it and swabbed once with cleaning solution before administering the medicine. The surly tank made a short snarl and yanked his leg backwards, surprised to see the syringe was empty of medicine and fully intact. First Aid was admittedly skilled with what he did. The shot had been done in record time!

"You did well, Brawl! The painkiller will begin working within a breem or so. Can you hold out until then?"

"Can Megatron shoot a bot dead with his canon?" Brawl drawled, finding the question of him holding out long enough exceptionally stupid.

First Aid squeaked and quickly shuffled out of the cell. Light bars sprang into place yet again as he scurried away from the prison, blue optical visor regarding Brawl one last time before he headed back to the main room of med bay toward safety. The tank was then left alone, the only only sounds in the room the occasional click of metal claws or a shuffling of rotors from Vortex's cell.

'Good. I need time to think and get strong again. When that little bot comes back next time, I'm getting out of here. And unlike Vortex, I'm going to make it out.'


	12. The Present ~ Blast Off

Blast Off felt like he had been hit by Astrotrain during a practice flight when he woke up. A purple optical visor tried to adjust to the blaring lights in the room, but he could hardly focus them. Everything was foggy and blurred, most likely from a hearty dose of medications and sedatives. Unable to even groan, he lay there and waited for his frame to respond to his processor's sluggish commands.

"How are you feeling?" a strong voice asked, the tone warm but not weak. Whoever the bot was, Blast Off knew he was no fool instantly.

"T-t...ter-terrible."

"Where does it hurt?"

Blast Off made a pitiful sound when a firm hand pressed down on his side and then his shoulder. He tried to push the hand away, but he could barely move his arms. The blurry form of a mech above him more gently patted his shoulder and went to get something.

The purple and brown shuttle mech didn't care what happened right then, barely conscious and certainly miserable. His frame was so weakened he didn't even believe it was his own for a moment. No Combaticon was so decrepit! How could he have fallen so far?! He had been the best out there only a little while ago!

And then he remembered. It was the war-the end of the war in which the side he had fought for had lost. They had lost miserably. It made him furious to think that Megatron of all bots would be the one to lose. It never should have happened. Never.

"Alright, I brought you something to make you feel better. Your tanks are rather low. None of the medics bothered to keep an energon drip in you," the voice of the unknown mech said, taking Blast Off's arm and quickly inserting an IV.

Blast Off grunted softly, but lay still as he was tended to. The bot working on him was still talking softly, but he barely listened. The words were more comforting when they were background noise, anyway. He drifted in an out of consciousness, the bot he didn't recognize keeping him comfortable.

"There you go. Your tanks are filled up and you'll be running much better now."

Blast Off found he was actually functioning more smoothly as the bot had said, his optics finally able to focus and take in the sight of the one who was helping. The purple optical visor widened slightly in shock when he saw the mech was a fellow shuttle. When had the Autobots gotten a shuttle mech?!

"Who...are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"I am Skyfire."

Blast Off recognized the name, but said nothing more. He didn't have the strength for that. Venting softly, he tried to roll over on the medical cot he found himself on only to find he couldn't move at all. They had strapped him onto the berth like a prisoner ready for a lethal injection.

The shuttle tensed all over and a great deal of the foggy drug that had been keeping him placid vanished as adrenaline pumped through his systems. He needed to get away since they were planning on keeping him trapped until death. For any aerial model, that was more terrifying than the end of their life. Not being able to fly, let alone move, was horrifying.

Powerful muscle cabling tensed under the straps and Blast Off strained against them to get away. He saw Skyfire turn from his place at a counter to look at him, the mech's blue optics quickly going from curious to worried. Just as he made a step forward to reach the cot, Blast Off broke through the restraints and threw himself onto his pedes.

Woozy, he swayed back and forth for a moment before his equilibrium sensors calibrated and he was balanced again. His optical visor narrowed as he backed away, putting the medical berth in between himself and the other shuttle. There was no one else in the private recovery room, so the little stand off would be evenly matched.

"Blast Off, we are not trying to hurt you. Sit down," Skyfire said firmly, approaching carefully with his hands open to show he had no weapons. "I know you are nervous and surely not feeling well, but you are a smart mech and I will explain everything to you."

"Start talking, Skyfire. I have little patience for games," Blast Off growled back, continuing to search the room for anything he could use for a weapon or as an exit. He didn't want to fight, but if he had to he would.

Skyfire didn't talk. Instead he lunged for Blast Off and grabbed him, pulling the brown and purple shuttle into a tight headlock. Blast Off snarled, thrashing and twisting against the hold on him. Kicking the tricolor shuttle mech in the shin, he managed to knock him off balance just enough to slip out of his hold. From there he retreated into the back of the small room, venting in soft huffs from the exertion.

"Blast Off, please. You need to stand down."

"I will never stand down to the likes of you! I am a survivor! I am a fighter! I was destined never to fail in the war! You have no idea what I have been through, Autobot. I will not let this be the end. I will not allow you to bring me down like a common criminal and execute me as one! I will die as the warrior I was meant to be!"

Skyfire let Blast Off talk, light sapphire optics shimmering with understanding. Blast Off had been hurt when he was younger, that much was certain. He also saw what had brought on the bought of terror. The mech had been strapped to the cot. Any medic with an ounce of sense would know never to do that to a flier. But one of them had and all the medics with sense were working on the heavily damaged patients.

"Blast Off, calm down. I'm not going to force you onto the cot. Some idiot did that to you, but it wasn't me. I promise."

Blast Off shied away still, mouth hidden behind his face mask. The mech was guarded, his chunky shuttle wings held close to his sides and his body tight with agitation. The whole ordeal was stressing him out a huge deal and it worried Skyfire. What if the poor bot had a spark attack right then and there from the overload of fear? It wasn't unheard of.

Blast Off growled a warning as Skyfire approached again, treating him like a cornered beast. One had to be careful when they backed a wild mechanimal into a corner-someone would get bitten. And right then the only way out was to fight and 'bite' his attacker. Words meant nothing now as they had been false so many times for the shuttle. Things were not okay. Things were not under control. Things were untrustworthy.

"Blast Off..."

The brown and purple shuttle met the tricolor one head on, lunging at him just as Skyfire made a move. He grunted when he was grabbed into a surprisingly strong embrace and held there, arms pinned to his sides and his frame pressed against Skyfire's cockpit and chest. He struggled, jerking and swearing as he tried to gain the upper hand. But this time there was no way out.

"Blast Off, calm down. Please, I know we can talk. You are not stupid and I would like to listen to you. But we cannot make any progress if all you do is resist."

Blast Off said nothing, continuing to fight. He refused to listen right then, only wanting his freedom. He believed there was still a chance. He could somehow get away from the other shuttle as he did the first time and make a break for the door. But as clicks turned to a breem he slowly ceased his struggles. There was no way out...

Weakened by the exertion he had put on his frame and tired out from the futile idea of escape, the mech finally gave in and hushed, frame limp against the arms that held him. Skyfire kept Blast Off close, his hold firm but not cruel. Unwilling to take a chance and give the seemingly defeated mech a way out, the other shuttle kept him steady and gently rubbed his upper arm.

"I know how it feels to be trapped, Blast Off. Let's sit down and talk shuttle mech to shuttle mech."

"I hate you..." Blast Off hissed, head resting against Skyfire's warm chest plates. Under the strong metal he could hear the pulse of a healthy spark and shut off his optical visor for a moment. How much he wished he could be close to another bot sometimes. He knew it was weakness and that he should never love anyone again, but sometimes he couldn't help wishing for something he could never have.

Skyfire clumsily walked Blast Off towards the berth and sat him down, locking the door with a silent command frequency. Right then a runaway shuttle was not what med bay needed. The other Decepticons that had been brought in were causing enough trouble as it was.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Will you ever be willing to?"

"Certainly not."

"You do understand that sometimes speaking about things that are stressful to us helps bring us forward-"

"I have heard enough of you talking already. Do you have any data pads? I need something to keep my mind focused on," Blast Off interrupted, refusing to meet the blue optics he felt were staring at him.

"Yes, we have data pads. One moment, I will bring some to you. What do you like to read about?"

"Anything. I just need an escape."

Skyfire stood and went to the door, seeing nothing in the room could be used as much of a weapon. Feeling confident, he left and locked Blast Off inside. Perhaps once he was given some data pads he would feel more at home. The med bay recovery rooms really weren't meant to be prisons...the poor bot just felt that they were.

The tricolor shuttle returned to find Blast Off slumped down on the medical cot, the once proud mech truly beaten down. There was no fight left in him right then, the mech just a defeated frame. A lackluster optical visor met Skyfire's gaze when he came over and rested a hand against his shoulder, the gesture one of comfort. Blast Off was only down for a short time. The battle he fought was still raging inside and the scientist was determined to rescue him.

"I brought the data pads," he said softly, holding out six of the thin items to the bulky shuttle. Blast Off sat up and gently took the data pads and shuffled through them, putting two aside and handing the other four back.

"I have already read these."

"You have?"

"Indeed. They are common medical texts. I need something new," Blast Off said simply, taking one he hadn't read before about sparks and delving into it while Skyfire stared in shock at the returned data pads.

One thing he knew for certain now. Blast Off was a very rare find.


	13. The Present ~ Swindle/Vortex

Swindle found himself repaired, but caged. The voices of Brawl and Vortex as well as some others echoed in the large room full of low ceiling cells. Purple optics narrowed and the sly mech shifted in the pile of mesh blankets he had been wrapped in. Surely they thought they were being generous by giving him so much, but he cared little for things that cost nothing.

'Now how am I going to get out of here?' Swindle asked himself, tilting his head to the side as he admired the light bars. They were good quality and there was nothing he had on him to disable them.

Swindle pushed the mesh blankets off and stifled a small groan. His frame ached and he saw he was patched temporarily, repair nanites working hard to fix covered up damage. The medics were surely busy and his wounds were fixed enough to self heal.

'And that means even more good news for me! They'll leave me alone and I'll be free to do as I like. No one checks up on a bot who's fine,' Swindle told himself as he started checking his frame. Hopefully they hadn't taken all his weapons.

As he suspected, his first subspace was empty. He had two, one which he stored all his merchandise and the other which he put normal things any bot would carry. That subspace was entirely empty and all his body systems that allowed for weapons were shut down. His shoulder mounted gun wouldn't charge, let alone fire, and the other various weapons wouldn't work, either. But the Autobots hadn't found his real subspace that contained almost every weapon known to their kind. He was an arms dealer, after all.

'Good! That makes this job a whole lot easier!' Swindle thought excitedly as he stealthily took out a laser pen. It was small and could pack a punch when it came to cutting through things.

Swindle carefully rolled over and aimed the pen at the wall behind him, cutting out the metal perfectly and catching it in mesh blankets to muffle the sound of metal clattering. Once that was done, he crawled quietly from the cell out into a small space in between the cell wall and a med bay wall. The laser pen came out again and he swiftly cut another hole out from the building, purple optics bright when he saw freedom.

'It's good to be out of here!' he thought as he shakily stepped outside and pulled out a one time use ground bridge he had stashed away. He would get to his friend Lockdown and work from there. Things would be fine and he would be free.

For a moment he had a pang of sorrow for leaving the rest of the gestalt to whatever fate would meet them, but it passed quickly. It was all about him, now. The others had never been real brothers to him anyway, so he was determined not to care. This escape would be for him alone.

***

Vortex was miserable now. He had burned all of his mesh blankets and now had his frame exposed. The patches and mesh gauze had been too much fun to rip off, but now he regretted it. Fussing in the cold cell, he banged his head against the ceiling and made a loud shout.

"I need a medic! I'm hungry!" he howled, ramming himself against the back of the cage. If he made enough of a racket, maybe someone would come take care of him.

Vortex had been left alone, only briefly making contact with bots when they came to shove a bowl of energon under the light bars. Mostly they were medical drones who didn't really have much to say, leaving him right after their task was done to chatter amongst themselves. None had reported that he was without his blankets or bandages, simply ignoring that little problem.

He made a few more shouts and finally he heard someone coming towards his cell, other prisoners making noise at the arrival as well. Vortex settled down at last and waited patiently for the bot to come over, sitting in his low ceiling cage with a hopeful gleam to his red visor. For once he actually wanted someone to help him. He was lonely and admittedly a little scared without his brothers right with him.

"What's the problem, Vortex? You-what did you do?! Where are all your blankets? And what did you do to your patch?!" Ratchet exclaimed, the medic kneeling down and staring in shock at the sight before him. Vortex shuffled his rotor blades and whined.

"I burned them in the light bars....it was fun but now it's not."

"Come here," Ratchet commanded, punching the code to bring down the light bars.

Vortex shied away from the medic's hand when he extended it to him, rotors puffing out to his sides before pressing tight against his back. He was unsure and excited, hopeful for some attention but scared if he trusted anyone he would hurt for it.

Ratchet vented, seeing the signs clearly. Vortex had been abused, be it by the Decepticons or long before that. Either way, it had taken hold of him and he would be hard to coax out of his protective state. Bots like that would need a great deal of time and effort in order to become less skittish and more sociable.

"Vortex, come."

For a moment the helicopter mech leaned forward towards the hand, but pulled away at the last second. Ratchet swore when he missed touching the other mech, Vortex skittering back to the farthest away corner of the cell he could reach. New energon welled up from the poorly healed wound and dropped onto the metal floor while the gray and teal mech panted softly in anticipation for a fight. He wanted to be helped, not grabbed and cornered!

"No touching allowed," he said, hissing nastily when Ratchet inched further into the cell. Rotors rose on his back like hackles of a canine and he tensed all over. If the head medic came much closer, he would regret it. He might have been removed of most weapons, but he still had his clawed hands.

"Okay, no touching. But I need to see you since you were stupid and tore off your bandages way too early. Just come over into the better light and I'll take a look."

"But then you'll touch me,"

"Vortex, you have to trust me. I am a medic and I took a vow to help you, not hurt you. I don't care about factions. We're all Cybertronians now."

Ratchet saw there was nothing in Vortex's optical visor to say he trusted at all. The mech remained where he was, huddled in the back corner of his cell hissing quietly. The medic vented in defeat, knowing that until Vortex came to him he would be unable to help. Grabbing at the bot or darting him would destroy any minuscule amount of trust the mech had in anyone.

"When you want me to come patch things up, call. Here's my com frequency. But if you use it to be a nuisance I will NOT be pleased. Understood?" Ratchet asked, putting a small data chip with the frequency number on the floor of the cell.

"I don't want you to leave," Vortex said, tilting his head to one side as if confused.

"If I can't repair you there isn't any reason for me to stay. I know you just want me to make a scene so you can have an excuse to fight someone. But right now you need to rest and decide when you'll be willing to let someone touch you."

Vortex whined softly when Ratchet took out a cube and left on the floor for him, backing out of the cell and putting the light bars back up. The Combaticon inched forward, watching the red and white mech check twice to make sure he was contained before turning to go.

"I'll bring you some more blankets, but you better not wreck them."

Vortex watched Ratchet go and curled up on the floor when his was gone from sight. What was wrong with him? He had called for someone, someone came, and then he couldn't force himself to go close and ask for help. Instead he pushed them away and acted violent. It made him sick, tanks churning at the very thought as he looked into the pinkish liquid inside the cube. Now he wasn't hungry.

The helicopter mech was in uneasy recharge when Ratchet came back, the medic holding four new blankets in his arms. He didn't expect them to last too long, but now that the war was over they could manufacture all the supplies they needed.

It brought a rare smile to his faceplate when he thought of how good it felt to see the end of a raging war. It was over and they were now free to make and repair all they liked. Once they were ready, both the Ark and the Nemesis would be piloted through a space bridge back to their home where rebuilding would take place. But for some reason that seemed like a less daunting task compared to rehabilitating the entirety of the Decepticon faction.

Ratchet deactivated the bars and placed two of the folded blankets down near the helicopter while he took the other two and draped them on top of the recharging bot. Vortex muttered something in his sleep and instantly cuddled into the blankets, clawed hands hooking into the mesh and pulling it closer to his faceplate. Ratchet smiled sadly, hating to see a bot-even a killer-acting so full of need. The mech was all alone and he surely felt that way.

'Come on, Ratchet. You have a ton of bots to take care of and these old 'Cons come after. When everyone else is repaired and out of med bay, then you can work your magic on these sorry things,' he told himself me swiftly exiting the brig and calling a a pair of drones to bring fuel to all the bots.

Just as he was walking out, he noticed one of the cells that was supposed to be holding a mech was empty, the back cut through with a laser weapon. He quickly checked the designation of the mech being contained and swore. It was Swindle and he was free.

Alarms went off when he sounded that a prisoner had escaped, guards from all over the Ark swiftly running to apprehend the escapee. From outside the blaring could be heard and the jeep was quick to act. So now they knew he was out and they would be coming after him. Getting out whatever weapons he could grab as he ran, the tan and purple mech commed desperately for Lockdown.

-Lockdown! Lockdown, where are you? I'm ready to sell half my inventory if you're willing to take it! All for a ride! It's a huge deal!-

-So they caught you?-

-I'm free now but I won't be for long unless you get over here and help me!-

-And risk my own hide? Not a chance. Gonna haveta' offer me something better than half an inventory, Swindle-

-Fine! All of it! You can have everything!-

Lockdown rumbled softly over the com link before a brief moment of silence. Swindle whined with frustration, hoping he would get a favorable answer back.

-Deal. What's your location?-

Swindle fumbled to send it as he sprinted over some Earth rocks towards a wide open clearing. It would be safe enough for Lockdown's ship to land and get him to safety. He nearly cried for joy when Deaths Head appeared and opened a landing door for him.

Pedes clattered up the metal ramp, the bot they belonged to throwing himself into the belly of the ship. The moment he was on board the vessel took off, leaving the Autobots chasing after him behind on the ground. Lockdown was too clever to get caught, always having up to date tech that would keep his ship from being the next target.

"How'd they getcha, Swin? You're usually hard to get ahold of," Lockdown's deep voice said, Swindle jumping slightly in surprise. How the mech was down in the hull of the starship and not piloting it when there was an escape needed was rather shocking.

"I got caught in in the battle and things got bad," Swindle managed, standing up on his own and glaring at his patched up frame. "As you can see I was damaged enough so that I couldn't get away."

"Pity. Now I'm stuck with you," Lockdown replied, a smirk curling on his lips. Swindle snorted at him, knowing the bot didn't mind much at all. He was in it for business as usual. "Where's all my new stuff? Pay up."

Deciding he would only give over most of his collection, Swindle unloaded almost all of his merchandise to the other con artist. Lockdown was quite pleased with the large pile and was happy to have it. Swindle didn't care as he still had some rare items hidden safely away. He could start over a collection of things, but only if he was free.

"You'll want a room to yourself, so go pick one out and make it your home sweet home. I figure you'll be staying...partner."

"Oh, joy."

Swindle punched Lockdown's shoulder, the larger mech rumbling and shoving him back. The two grinned at each other and walked together from the hull of the ship, chatting about customers and places they could go. Things would work out okay in the end and Swindle felt like he really was safe. Lockdown's ship was probably the best place for him to be if he wanted to remain unconfined and free.


	14. The Present ~ Onslaught

Onslaught was treated just as the other prisoners were, put into a small cell where he couldn't stand. Making them into mechanimals was a clever plan, a bot unable to fight or balance themselves if standing up was impossible. Autobots knew how to detain their own kind apparently.

He had heard some of his teammates inside and also caught wind that Swindle had escaped completely. That side of the gestalt bond was rather excited and Onslaught knew almost instantly the mech would not be coming back to help them. Swindle did everything for himself and would only aid if it was somehow in his own interest. The little wretch was abandoning them.

The only thing Onslaught was grateful for was that his back was repaired. He couldn't move much yet, but he was healed and his self repair systems were working hard to get him back in working condition. It was almost comforting to know he could do nothing for once. All he could do was plan while he waited for recovery.

"How are you -Bam!- doing?"

Onslaught was jolted from his many thoughts to find himself in the company of the red tank, Warpath. The bot was his guard, someone always watching the leaders of gestalts or highly dangerous captives. Thankfully Warpath was not abusive or terribly annoying, so the blue truck mech had been friendly enough. Besides that, there was no reason to be rude. The war was over and mind sets purely interested in hate and fighting needed to be mended lest they relapse into another civil conflict.

"I am well. Thank you," Onslaught said calmly, making a soft groan when he tried to sit up. "Well, I am sore. But I would rather be sore knowing I am repairing rather than sore and knowing I was broken."

"I can't disagree there! Kazowie! So, what kind of energon would you like today?"

"I always fancied the gelled kind. Do you have any thallium strips? I'd pay you for them," Onslaught said looking for the Cybertronian equivalent of beef jerky. Warpath's optics brightened.  
"I might have some! Just wait a -Blam!- moment! I'll check after I get the energon!"

Warpath was a loud bot, but he wasn't a tank like Brawl. He was smaller and certainly more gentle. There was less of a temper in him than most of his type, able to keep his cool by making jokes or using his exclamation words. Onslaught knew it was some kind of processor malfunction that caused him to do it, but he honestly didn't mind. It make the tank somewhat lovable. But then again, that probably was because he was a different sort of tank. If Brawl shouted things like that when he spoke he would most likely be terrifying.

Warpath took out a bowl and filled it brimming with gelled energon. The little, kibble-like pieces were nice to eat sometimes compared to the liquid form of energon. Once there was a heaping serving, the tank pushed the container under the light bars and shuffled around his subspace for a thallium strip.

Onslaught reached for the bowl that was out of reach and instantly regretted it, making a soft gasp as he recoiled his hand. His back flared with pain and he lay stock still, venting softly to try and regulate the burning ache. Warpath heard and quickly turned his attention on his bot.

He considered Onslaught to be his in the sense of duty. Everything that happened with the mech was his responsibility. If Onslaught went hungry, it would be his fault for not giving him ample fuel or care. If he was hurting, it was up to him to call a medic or pick up medicine. It was worrying to hear the strong Combaticon leader like that and see his once indestructible frame so broken down.

"Hurting -Zam!- again?"

"Yes..."

"Good news, though! I have the -Kerblam!- thallium strips! It should make you feel better! And I'll get the bowl -Pow!- closer to you."

Warpath put down the light bars and inched closer to the entrance of the cage. He pushed the bowl of fuel towards Onslaught and offered him two thallium strips to gnaw on. Onslaught took them with many thanks, putting them on the side of his bowl as he started to eat.

He noticed Warpath wasn't leaving like usual and swallowed a mouthful of gelled energon, glancing up at him with curiosity. What was he up to? Usually bots didn't hang around unless they wanted something, at least in his experience. Warpath said nothing, simply reaching out a hand and gently touching the patched area of his back.

"What are you-"

Warpath said something too quiet to hear and rubbed soothing circles with his thumb into his upper back where he was unharmed. A wave of warmth and contentment surged through him, muscle-like cabling under armor plates relaxing. It felt nice, whatever the tank was up to.

"I used to help out my -Zam!- brothers when we came home from laboring on Cybertron. Gotta keep those -Boom!- muscles relaxed so they recover well!"

Onslaught couldn't help the soft groans he made out of pleasure, the feeling of warmth spreading through his frame at the perfect massaging. Why a bot would help him out like this was strange, but he wasn't going to turn it away just yet...It felt too good to do that.

"You're talented, I'll give you that. Makes even my back feel better."

"Told you! I know what I'm -Zowie!- doing!"

Warpath gave Onslaught all the attention he could, making sure the bot was comfortable when he finally moved from his kneeling position. He pushed the gelled energon cubes closer so that Onslaught wouldn't have to reach for it and smiled behind his face mask, hoping he had brightened the bot's day a bit.

"Thank you," Onslaught said, sounding somewhat wary but grateful for the care. Warpath's optics brightened and he made a soft grunt.

"It's not a problem! Anytime you need me, just -Zam!- give me a call!"

A frequency signature was sent to the Combaticon, Onslaught quickly saving it in a now empty frequency storage. All of his contacts had been wiped from that part of his processor when he had been taken prisoner, so having one now was nice and somewhat comforting. Familiar things were always good to have close in times like these.

Warpath waved to Onslaught when he went to leave, putting the light bars back up and slowly plodding away. Onslaught watched him go, really starting to wonder what the tank had for motives. He probably wanted some information, but so far hadn't asked. Whatever it was, Onslaught would just have to wait to find out.

***

"Morning, Onslaught! Feeling -Kapow!- better today?" Warpath's boisterous yet cheery voice called from outside the cell.

The blue truck mech slowly woke, bleary optical visor focusing on the tank offering him a choice of energon. He made a soft grumble and stretched out, making a soft sound of puzzlement. Sometimes when he woke up he forgot he was damaged and caged. In his dreams and memory files he never was, so it was an unpleasant reality check.

"Better. Getting better every day..." he said, shaking his head slightly to rid sleep from his systems. "I'll have liquid energon for my morning refuel, thanks."

Warpath handed it over and made sure it was in range for the other large mech to reach. Onslaught took it and downed the whole thing with ease, finding he was a lot hungrier than usual. Warpath lingered, silent but watching him with intelligent, clear topaz optics. Onslaught sighed, finally deciding he couldn't plan out the mech's next course of action.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Why are you being friendly and nice and offering me all this? I'm not going to give you any information. You'll have to bring me into a torture chamber and see if you can extract it the hard way. Gentleness won't get you anywhere with me."

"I'm not looking to get info! I'm here to -Boom!- keep you company and watch you in case you try and escape like Swindle did. You're an officer! We have to -Zam!- keep you close!"

"But you don't understand that you are doing this prisoner and guard thing all wrong! It is done entirely different than how you go about it! A prisoner should be beaten and abused! You should be starving me, insulting me, hurting me! You should not be kind and gentle. That is not how it works," Onslaught exclaimed, sounding quite agitated with the way things were working out. Not that he disliked the friendly mannerisms of the tank-it just felt too strange in his logical, organized mind.

"The war is over! Why would I want to -Zowie!- hurt you? You aren't a bad bot at all! You're smart and you're not half bad for a former 'Con!" Warpath said brightly, waving off Onslaught when he said all the negative things.

Onslaught stared, bright yellow optical visor glimmering with confusion. What was wrong with this tank? He was nothing like Brawl and he wanted good things for him. It made no sense that after so much war and hate a bot like that could just turn around and act like things were fine, but maybe that was a good thing. They had to start forgiving each other at some point.

"I brought some data pads for you to read if you -Zap!- like those," Warpath offered, not liking the somewhat a awkward silence between them.

"Of course. Thank you."

Onslaught took the items and stacked them where he could reach, head resting on the blankets and pillows when he got tired. It was hard to be perked up for long as it caused his back to ache. It was getting better, but he was nowhere near recovered and wouldn't be for some time.

"I still don't see how you get any gain from speaking kindly with me. Your other Autobots would surely disagree with your words."

"They're all helping other bots out! We're all -Kazow!- looking to bring everyone back together! So far I think you'll be out of your cell soon! You're a good bot and I don't think you -Yowie!- would hurt anyone unless they provoked you," Warpath explained, putting up the light bars once more as he backed out. "We want everyone to come around and be a part of new Cybertron! Megatron's all for it!"

"What news do you have of him? Does he belong to the Prime now?" Onslaught asked, tone darkening. How dare they keep Lord Megatron locked up wit he his worst nightmare?! It was cruel and vile at best.

"Oh, Optimus and Megatron are hitting it off -Blam!- great! They're working on how to govern everything from here on out and what to repair first. Once the Matrix gets returned to Primus, the planet will come back to life. All we have to -Pow!- do is repair the places we'll be living and clear the wreckage!"

"You mean to tell me the two worst enemies are now cuddling up together and working as one?"

"Yep! They like it, too!"

"I think you're lying. Megatron would never do such a thing."

"Well, he did and he's in good shape! He and OP will make things -Zam!- good for us common bots!"

Onslaught was soon left alone to think, brooding over the new information he had gathered. If what Warpath said was true by some miracle, it meant the war really was over and even the two bots who fought the most could find common ground again. Maybe being friendly with Warpath was what he needed to be a better mech again. Who knew? He would just have to wait and see what happened next.


	15. The Present ~ Brawl

Brawl hated that Swindle made it out of there before he could. It had been his plan to escape first, but in the end it mattered little who got away and in what order. All that was important was that he actually made it out. Whenever that little twerp First Aid came in to check on him, he would make his move and take the bot down. He wouldn't stand a chance!

'It'll barely be fun at all since he'll die so easily,' Brawl thought, hiding a smirk when he saw red and white coming down the hall towards his cell. It was First Aid, alright.

"Good morning, Brawl! Here is your morning energon!" First Aid called, sliding the bowl of gelled fuel under the light bars. "How are you feeling today?"

"Sore as Pit. I need more of that painkiller stuff," Brawl answered gruffly, partially because it was a ruse to get those pesky bars deactivated and because he was actually sore.

"I brought some with me. I thought you might ask for it."

"Oh, aren't you a clever one? Never knew a medic could think ahead," Brawl sneered, shrugging off his blankets further so they wouldn't trip him up on his escape.

First Aid punched in the code and the light bars were soon gone, the only thing blocking his path now in the form of a red and white Cybertronian ambulance. That was something Brawl could battle and destroy, so it wasn't nearly as daunting as a light bar. He just had to bide his time until the perfect moment came along.

"I had to bring an injectable kind again. I know you aren't a huge fan of them but everything else is used up and not easily made. Do you want it in your thigh again?"

"Sure, why not? So long as I get it," Brawl said simply, waiting patiently as First Aid inched nervously into the cell brandishing the painkiller.

Just as First Aid reached Brawl and removed the cap from the syringe, the massive tank mech decided to make his move. He wouldn't have another better chance, First Aid's dominant hand busy holding the medicine while his other was nearly useless. Brawl snarled and lunged forward, crashing into First Aid's lighter frame. The medic went flying backwards with a surprised cry, rolling and trying to scramble to his pedes so the tank didn't fall on him.

"Get out of my way!" Brawl snarled, barreling out of the cage and stumbling to his pedes. It was hard to walk and hurt like crazy, his wounds screaming in protest, but he continued on. Having no idea which way was out and if it would bring him into more trouble, he shot towards the cell that Swindle had cut and dove into the hole.

Of course it was too small for him, the tank cursing everything that lived and died as he backed out and found himself faceplate to faceplate with an enraged Ratchet. He narrowly avoided the first swing of a fist and took the second right to the gut. His hardly healed torso flared with agony and he reeled away, venting hard as he tried to regroup. Ratchet came at him again, the green and brown mech barely blocking the hit.

"Please! Ratchet, don't hurt him!" First Aid called desperately as the head medic and tank duked it out in the middle of the prisoner hallway. Other former Decepticons whooped and hollered for Brawl, wanting to see one of their own actually make a few dents.

Their cheers reminded him of his gladiator days, the mech suddenly finding a reserve of strength he didn't know was there. With a roar Brawl grabbed Ratchet and threw him down the hallway into First Aid, shutting the little bot up and ridding the escape route of a troublesome medic. Brawl snarled and surged forward, venting in loud huffs as he finally reached the door. Fumbling with the handle, he wasted only a few moments, but it was enough for Ratchet to come after him again.

"Get the frag off!" Brawl shouted, trying to shake Ratchet at first. When that didn't work, he slammed the bot into the wall, deciding he would have to crush him if he wouldn't give up the easy way.

Sadly for Brawl, Ratchet wasn't going to give up the hard way, either. He was a lot more advanced in his fighting skills and soon had the tank on the defensive again. With a quick twist and punch to the lower middle, Ratchet was free and Brawl was once again backing away trying to catch his breath.

"Brawl, stand down and don't be an idiot. You won't win and the door is locked from the inside. Just settle yourself," Ratchet advised, calmly speaking with the irate tank.

"Shut up! You don't know what it's like! I'm not weak! I'm not going to let you stuff me away into a little cell and see how long it takes for me to lose my fragging mind! I won't play that little slag of a game with you!"

Brawl lunged at Ratchet and grabbed him by the neck, squeezing with all his might in an attempt to strangle the senior bot. Ratchet thwarted the plan with a fierce punch to the side of Brawl's head, sending the tank at last to the floor.

Brawl yelped at the flooding pain and dragged himself up onto his hands and knees for a moment, trying to regain his composure. Right then everything was spinning and he felt dizzy, his equilibrium sensor knocked so hard it needed to reboot. He quickly sent the command for it to do so while he struggled to rise and meet Ratchet again. He never got a chance though, a firm hand clamping around the nape of his neck and pushing his faceplate into the floor.

"That's it...stay down," Ratchet growled, keeping Brawl pinned while the bot snarled and shifted angrily.

"Ratchet, please! Don't hurt him! He's just angry and scared about being trapped in here!" First Aid called, the smaller medic coming to kneel beside Brawl.

Brawl could hear their words, but they all sounded far away and muffled. He made a soft sound of misery and finally broke down. How could he ever expect to escape this? He was in Pit and there was no way around it. This was his torment for all the things he had done in war and now he was paying the price-as much as he hated to do it.

Washer fluid tears of frustration and despair leaked from the corners of his bright orange visor, the tank finally broken. He had no more fighting spirit, at least for a while. As much as he hated to let Ratchet and the other Autobots win, he could do nothing about it.

"Ratchet, you upset him!" First Aid gasped, seeing the gruff mech was teary and limp under the firm hand of the head medic. Ratchet snorted.

"First Aid, it's all a trick to let us relax and let him up. He isn't really upset," Ratchet assured, manhandling Brawl back to his cell. He did find the bot to be exceptionally cooperative and quiet, something he normally never was.

Brawl was set back on his blankets, but he didn't do anything to make himself more comfortable. He simply lay there and blankly stared. First Aid glared as best he could at Ratchet and slowly moved closer to the downed mech. Brawl barely pulled away when a gentle hand touched his helm, rubbing the spot where he had been punched.

"Ratchet, he's damaged even worse now!"

"Tanks are tough, he'll recover just fine. But from now on I want you to have another bot with you. He's unpredictable and dangerous. If he had wanted to kill you, he could have."

"He's not that evil. He just wants to be free! All of them do and I don't see why we contain everyone like this!" First Aid said, for once his meek personality giving way to a stronger one.

"They have to stay here because it's what we all decided on. Once they come around and prove they can act like normal citizens, they can help us rebuild. But until then they stay here and we work with them when we have a chance."

Ratchet did feel a pang of regret for beating Brawl up and vented softly, joining First Aid in a kneeling position at the entrance of the cell. Brawl shied away at last, First Aid's hand unable to reach the dented helm to soothe it any longer. The tank made a warning growl and curled up, the main patch on his upper left side now leaking energon. Whatever had been repairing behind the thin metal and gauze mesh was destroyed in the fight and escape attempt.

"Brawl, I'm going to leave you with First Aid. There are no good feelings between us at the moment and I'm not going to force you into anything. Be kind to my assistant and I will return the attention to you," Ratchet stated, optics meeting the visor with a stern light. "First Aid, stay safe and keep a close optic on him."

Ratchet left after he spoke, deciding Brawl wouldn't be cooperative with him around whatsoever. He was First Aid's trouble bot ever since he was pulled off the battlefield, so Ratchet would leave the two to figure out what needed to be done to find trust.

"Brawl, I'm sorry he did that to you. I never would have wanted you hurt! Oh, Primus, I hate fighting so much..." First Aid said honestly, shuddering when he mentioned fighting at all. "But you shouldn't have done what you did."

No crass remark came from the mech this time, the tank quiet and dull. He made a soft growl again when First Aid reached out to touch him, the hand following the retreating bot until he touched a warm metal helm. Brawl tried to curl up and keep him away, but the comfort and softness was not unpleasant.

"Don't touch me," he managed to grunt, the words sounding pathetic at best. It didn't even scare skittish First Aid away.

"Brawl, will you let me repair you?"

"No. I want to be left the frag alone! All you Autobots do is cause me misery! Frag all of you!"

First Aid continued to pet the mech's helm and soon Brawl quieted, surprisingly leaning into the hand that rubbed him. First Aid rubbed the ache away and Brawl had to admit it felt good to be cared for even if it was just repairs.

'I need someone to save me. Maybe he'll be the one,' Brawl thought, optical visor focusing on First Aid for a click. The red and white mech looked back, coming deeper inside the cage.

Brawl allowed it to happen and made a quiet rumble when First Aid's hands moved to his undamaged side and pet him there. The touch became more comfortable and welcomed the longer the quiet mech stayed with him, Brawl snuggling into the blankets as he was taken care of.

"First Aid...I need the damn repairs. Just....just help me...please," Brawl whispered, First Aid knowing that he was finally starting to get to the real Brawl. The tank had a chance to be free and the medic was determined to save him.


	16. The Present ~ Blast Off

Blast Off wasn't too miserable. For some reason he wasn't caged in one of the normal cells the others got stuff into. Instead he got to stay inside the recovery room, albeit with a locked door he couldn't budge. But he didn't care anymore about escape since he wasn't exactly being tortured. There were worse punishments and the Autobots were relatively harmless.

He lay back on the stiff berth and put the finish science data pad down on the table. He had gone through so many volumes Skyfire was convinced he skimmed them and didn't actually read much at all. Well, that was his own foolish mistake. He was just twice as smart as everyone else and could easily accomplish such things.

Right then he wasn't too interested in reading, though. He felt...off. His frame was running a bit hot and his energon tanks felt unsettled. He felt as though he knew what the feeling was, but he chose to ignore it. Whatever it was, it was keeping his mind off more intelligent endeavors.

"Blast Off! How are you?" Skyfire's voice called, the door suddenly opening. The tricolor shuttle entered with a smile, doing his very best to be friendly and unthreatening. He was beginning to understand how Blast Off worked and what he needed in terms of help.

"Bothered because you showed up," Blast Off said, although it wasn't too scathing a remark. He had calmed considerably and the nastiness he had come to the cell with was slowly fading away. Really, he didn't see much point in being nasty all the time. It hadn't done bots much good so far.

"Did you finish all your data pads already?"

"Yes, they are...finished," Blast Off said, the heated feeling in his frame flaring up all of a sudden when he caught a whiff of Skyfire's warm, unique scent.

Skyfire noticed the change in Blast Off instantly, the purple and brown shuttle's wings quivering slightly as his frame tensed up. He was trying to hold something back, like he had to purge and was refusing the command to do so. Concerned for the other bot, Skyfire came closer so that he could help. When he did, his more primal programming came to life, the vibrant scent of heat and lubricant strong on the other bot.

'So that is what you are trying to hide. You're in heat, Blast Off,' Skyfire thought, glad he understood the problem wasn't some kind of illness. It was a natural occurrence and could be easily remedied.

"Blast Off, you-"

"Leave me. NOW!"

"You are in heat, Blast Off. You need to attend to it soon."

"Not when you're here! Leave!" Blast Off snapped, curling up tightly on the berth and glaring daggers at the other mech. Skyfire vented, backing away to leave the other shuttle in peace.

"If you need me, send for me on the com frequency. I will be nearby."

With that said, Skyfire left the room and gave Blast Off the privacy he had been waiting for. The moment the door clicked shut and locked, Blast Off made a muffled keen of need and quickly pulled back both his spike and valve covers. He hated dealing with his valve, but it felt better when it was uncovered.

His hand went right for his spike, gabbing it tightly and pumping hard along the shaft. The organ pulsed and twitched, the main energon vein running down the bottom of it thick with lifeblood, making his length even more turgid. The slit just below the sharp tip was leaking pre-fluid already, the substance soon slicked across the warm, soft metal plates of the spike.

Blast Off flopped fully onto his back and spread his legs, hips bucking into the firm strokes of his hand. His spike was ready for overload in few clicks, so much faster now that he was in heat. The whole point of the annoying cycle was to get a bot knocked up quick. Warrior models had been experiencing more heat cycles in closer durations now because of the war. There was a high demand for them and their bodies instinctively knew it.

"Fra-aaah!-g!" Blast Off groaned as his spike suddenly spurted out a great deal of transfluid, going slowly flaccid once he had finished. Thankfully it got rid of some of the heat and tingly sensations of his frame, but it hadn't finished it off like he hoped.

'I'm going to have to work with my valve, aren't I?' Blast Off inwardly groaned, looking down at his dirtied frame splattered with shimmery silver-clear fluid.

He didn't want to call anyone or ask for help. He was made to be better than that! He was a survivor and should be able to withstand a stupid heat cycle on his own. Maybe more spike overloads and some fingering would be enough to keep himself happy? There was no other way that he could allow, so it would have to work.

Hating himself a huge deal, he slid a hand between his spread legs and eased a finger inside his swollen mech cunt. The protoflesh folds parted as his finger dipped inside, curling upwards to try and reach a nice spot he had once found while 'exploring.' He found it and a warm dribble of lubricant puddled around his finger, the mech shocked to find he had so much all of a sudden. The heat cycle really did put his body into overdrive.

'Why would anyone need all this to make a sparkling? We can couple at any other other time and be fine-there is no need for this fanfare and trouble!' Blast Off thought angrily, optical visor narrowed as he finger fucked himself. He had to make that work, but it seemed like it was doing no good.

The sensation of warmth came back only a few clicks after his spike overload, the valve play offering barely any relief from the symptoms. It looked like he really needed a spike...and there was only one bot to call. It wouldn't be out of love or affection, but purely out of medical need. He kept telling himself that anyway. If he didn't then he would likely never get the help he needed.

-Skyfire...I need...your assistance- he finally commed, hating to do it and admit he needed help but understanding he would be a fool if he tried to fix things on his own. There was no satisfying a heat cycle until it's specific conditions were met.

-I will be there right away, Blast Off. Hold on one moment- Skyfire answered quickly. The mech was currently outside in the main room of med bay getting some medicines cultured and repair nanites ready for one of their more difficult patients.

He left his work and called a medical drone to help, the white plated bot with a medical cross on his chest coming quickly. Once Skyfire was sure his work would go well, he went striding off to the recovery rooms where Blast Off and a few of the other more agreeable Decepticons were staying. He unlocked the door and slipped through, shutting it quickly behind him.

That was when he laid optics on poor Blast Off, the mech a quivering wreck of sweet smelling lubricant and perfect breeding. The other shuttle's wings instantly flared wide to his sides when Skyfire entered, catching his scent and presenting himself as a submissive ready for coupling. It sent a wave of lust through Skyfire, the mech's spike bumping painfully against his cover. There was nothing more arousing than a mech fully in heat.

"Help me! Nnnngfff, it's so bad!" Blast Off growled, hoping it sounded more like a demand than a plea. He so hated to beg as it was beneath him.

"I will, I will. Just stay still and I'll fix it. Do you want to do this missionary or mechanimal style?"

"Mount me the way I am now!"

Blast Off was on hands and knees, aft displayed in the air and his valve of purple protoflesh glistening with lubricant. Skyfire sent a com to everyone that he was in a medical procedure and would not be done for a cycle or two, preventing them from being disturbed. Blast Off would only be more stressed if someone were to walk in on them.

"I must say, you are a good looking bot. The heat cycle makes you all the more appealing," Skyfire flirted as best he could, the massive shuttle mech clambering onto the berth. It creaked, but showed no signs it would collapse under their combined weight.

"Just...mate me already!" Blast Off hissed, not wanting to hear any words of endearment.

Skyfire released his tricolor spike, the main portion of the handsome length white ribbed with vibrant red. The sharp tip was royal blue, the color extending from the base of his spike all the way to the very tip. He was a handsome one and with hope Blast Off would not be too horrified with the pairing.

He draped himself heavily over Blast Off's back and bumped his hot length against the swollen valve folds. Lubricant smeared onto his erect shaft, the mech letting out a deep rumble of contentment. It had been far too long since he had been with a bot.

Blast Off keened softly and spread his legs further, begging for the healthy spike. He didn't care if he sounded pathetic anymore. He just needed t one filled and get rid of the heat cycle! Skyfire's arms squeezed around his sides and his weight pushed him further into the berth, keeping him steady for what was to come.

"Blast Off, are you sealed?"

"I don't care, just frag me already!"

He shuddered when two fingers slid into the soft heat and prodded around for the barrier. They found it situated where it should be in a shuttle, the seal a nice cover of protoflesh and rubber. It was thick, but a spike like his would make quick work of it.

"You are sealed, so I want your word that I can take it from you, Blast Off," Skyfire said, rubbing the mech's warm side when he explained. Blast Off hated to agree, but he had to.

"Yes, yes! Take it and help me! Fraaaag!" he snarled, rolling his hips to entice Skyfire to get going already.

Skyfire softly nuzzled and mouthed at Blast Off's neck and jawline, trying to get his attention on the affection there and not the soon-to-be pain in between his legs. Breaking seals was always hard, but worth it. His spike rubbed against the ready valve and finally slid into the tight slit. His spike shoved its way in until it bumped against the seal, stopping instantly.

"You're perfect, Blast Off...absolutely perfect," Skyfire purred, kissing at the aloof mech's cheek in hopes he would turn his head, remove his mask, and lock lips. He would likely need the loving since his first seal and inner second seal close to the gestation chamber would have to break.

Blast Off wanted to cry for a moment, the feeling of heat finally easing up but the passion heating further. Skyfire...said he was perfect. It struck a deep part of him he had tried to hide. No one had ever said that to him. He had just assumed he was the best since he survived. No one had ever wanted to be close with him, not like Skyfire was. The mech was trying to get...kisses?

For a click, Blast Off froze up and just stayed there on hands and knees unmoving. But then the side of him that had always wanted someone to care for him came through. Besides, if he didn't like how things needed up he could just say that it had been for the medical need only. There was a way out.

Skyfire smiled when Blast Off finally moved his head and met his lips, the brown and purple shuttle making a soft sound of what appeared to be pleasure. Not only that, but he had a gorgeous faceplate behind that battle mask. Skyfire's arms wrapped around his frame and hugged, giving him all the affection he could need. They rolled onto their sides soon after, Skyfire's spike nudging against the seal again as they tangled together.

"After this I don't want you to be a prisoner, okay? I want you to be free," Skyfire added, rubbing a chunky wing. Blast Off chuffed softly, lifting his leg so the angle was good for mating.

Skyfire decided that it was about time they start, so he went for it. With a quick snap of his hips, he drove his spike into the seal and tore it swiftly, not stopping until the deepest seal also broke. Blast Off tensed all over and made a loud cry of pain, kicking slightly as he was hugged close and effectively pinned to Skyfire. The tricolor shuttle kept him from panicking or hurting himself, his spike lodged deep inside the silky warmth.

"See? You're fine! You'll feel good in a klick, I promise," Skyfire murmured, suckling on Blast Off's lower lip to distract him.

"Just get it over with!"

Skyfire obeyed, hips starting to piston. Blast Off turned out to be especially vocal, whimpering, crying, gasping, and more as he was mated to. The heat was making things more intense than usual, but Skyfire was glad to know the pain was gone and all Blast Off could feel was bliss.

"Nnnnggh, faster..." he growled, leaning his back against Skyfire as the mech held one of his legs up and pounded into his slick valve. The pace quickened as he asked and Blast Off let loose a handsome shout, a rush of lubricant mixed with some energon curling around Skyfire's spike.

"The first overload feels really good, huh?" Skyfire murmured, kissing Blast Off's cheek and continuing until he felt he was close to his finish.

Skyfire made a gasping sound and jammed his spike deep into the much's perfect slit and overloaded, fluid spurting from the tip. The shaft engorged with energon and tied them together, trapping the gallons of transfluid between the spike and the intact gestation chamber wall. There would be no chance of sparklings, but it would have the same feeling of pressure that a full gestation chamber would have.

"Ahhhhh, Blast Off...frag...how do you feel?"

"So much better," Blast Off answered, his frame now feeling sated and the perfect temperature. The hard coupling had been just what was needed to get rid of the heat and satisfy the cycle.

"Let yourself rest and I'll get you some mild painkillers to take the sting out. The broken seals will ache later," Skyfire said, hugging him again. It was wonderful to see the mech was not all aloof and unfriendly. The real Blast Off was a great bot.


	17. The Present ~ Vortex

Vortex was hurting, his side blazing pain as he tried to move inside the cell. He wanted Ratchet to come back. He was lonely and honestly scared, cuddling into his blankets as he waited and hoped someone would show up. He'd keened and fussed all the night before, but he was ignored.

"I want someone to come and fix it..." he whimpered, his mesh blankets sticky with energon that leaked from his side. Corrosion had set in as well because it was not properly patched anymore, the infection making the wound more swollen and painful.

***

Ratchet woke that morning knowing he would have a full solar cycle of work ahead of him. Vortex needed to be checked on, an event that was always exciting. Sadly it was not a good kind of excitement, the bot highly difficult and ornery. But hopefully he would be more responsive after two solar cycles of contact only with medical drones.

He stretched and got himself a cube of energon before he went to work, making sure all the supplies he was likely to need were in his large subspace. Then he headed to the brig where the prisoners needing repairs were held, the Decepticons all stirring when someone they recognized arrived. He didn't pay them any attention yet, instead heading for Vortex's cell.

"Ratchet!" Vortex yipped when he saw the red and white frame, shaking off his blankets with a pained sound. He scampered over on hands and knees right to the light bars like a mechanimal hoping for attention from his master.

"Vortex, you wound! You've contracted corrosion!" Ratchet exclaimed, quickly taking down the light bars. "You had better let me touch you this time because I'll have to force it otherwise."

Ratchet was socked when Vortex tried to clamber into his arms, the bot really out of his head. But crazy mechs were strange like that and Vortex had obviously been left alone too long. The medic gently pet his rotor blades, feeling the quivering form of the broken Decepticon under his touch. It was so sad to see a bot like this, beaten down by so much until all he could hope for was to be held.

"You can help, just don't drop me," Vortex said, snuggling against Ratchet's warm frame. That was when the head medic realized Vortex was cold, his frame well under the acceptable and healthy temperature their kind should run at.

"I won't drop you," Ratchet said, continuing to pet the other bot until he was calm enough to handle. "You'll be fine. I just need to take you to the main med bay to do a better exam."

"Okay, carry me," Vortex decided, still trying to claw his way into Ratchet's arms. He hooked his sharp digits into Ratchet's back plating and refused to be pushed off, still shaking slightly.

Ratchet had never had that happen before, but was strong and aerials tended to be light. He wrapped sturdy arms around Vortex's frame and hefted him up, the helicopter pressing close and churring softly. Just like Seekers, aerials tended to make softer sounds like chirps and purrs rather than deep rumbles and growls. Their systems were different and their engines were configured differently. Ratchet had always found it fascinating and almost sweet how the airborne types made such pleasant sounds.

"It hurts," Vortex said simply, head resting on Ratchet's shoulder as he was carried into the main med bay room. The medic set him down on a medical bot and went to get all the supplies he wanted, keeping a close optic on the bot known for escape attempts.

Vortex simply lay where he had been left, comfortable now that he was near someone who was giving him the time of day. He shuffled his rotor blades and watched as Ratchet gathered up things to make him feel better.

"I'll need to repair the patch and clean all that corrosion off. Then you'll need to have anti-corrosion powder in your energon to keep the infection away. And you're running cold, so I'll need to take you to the wash racks and see if a hot bath will bring it back up. If not, I'll check your energon levels and coolant and take a closer look at you," Ratchet explained, coming over with a mesh cloth and doused with sterile cleaning fluid.

"Is it a hot tub? I always wanted one of those!" Vortex giggled, rotors clicking excitedly as Ratchet pushed him over onto his back.

"Sure, it can be a hot tub. Now hold still."

Ratchet took off the rest of the metal patch and got to cleaning the infected wound, Vortex hissing occasionally and clawing at him to stop. He didn't do any such thing, continuing to get rid of the corrosion and a tiny bit of rust until Vortex was clean. He rewrapped him with mesh gauze and put a new magnetic patch on to keep everything dry and healthy.

"Alright, get up. It's time for your bath."

"I can't walk."

"And why is that, Vortex?" Ratchet said tiredly, shaking his head.

"I haven't done it in a long time. I forgot how," Vortex said brightly, optical visor glimmering with naughtiness.

"You just want me to carry you around, is that it? Forgot how to walk...bunch of slag..." Ratchet muttered under his breath as he scooped Vortex back up into his arms. The bot wasn't being aggressive, so he might as well be rewarded for behaving nicely.

A medical drone had already filled the tub in their med bay wash rack full of hot oil, steam rising from the warm liquid. Vortex squirmed excitedly and escaped the hold on him, landing on two pedes with ease and running right over to the tub. From there he launched himself into the oil with a happy squeak and splashed around like an exotic bird, rotors flicking wildly.

"Easy, Vortex. Don't spill all of it on the floor," Ratchet grumbled, getting wet since those rotors liked flinging oil outside of the tub.

Eventually Vortex settled down, but it was on his own time. He didn't have good listening skills. But Ratchet found he didn't mind. The mech was somewhat lovable in the sense that he was so much like a little mechanimal with a simple yet neurotic mind.

Ratchet knelt down and took Vortex under his arms, the aerial's class hooking into his chest plates as he was moved. It amazingly didn't bother the head medic, not finding Vortex to be much of a threat. He was weird, but he wasn't nearly as dangerous without his weapons.

"You're still running cold...Fraggit all," Ratchet muttered, seeing ripples in the water to signal Vortex was still shivering. Besides that, his frame was still cool even immersed in the oil bath. "I think you have more of an infection than I thought. Come on, let's take your temperature really quick."

Ratchet pulled Vortex out of the tub completely and wrapped him in a drying cloth, the mech squirming slightly but calming when Ratchet held him steady. He would try things the easy way, but he doubted Vortex would help him.

"Pull back your face mask, Vortex. I need to take your temperature," Ratchet said, taking out a thermometer and holding it up where the helicopter could have a look. Vortex hissed softly and refused, optical visor not meeting Ratchet's gaze. "I'll have to stick it in another place you won't like if you don't cooperate. Really, Vortex. I'd like to do this the normal way."

Ratchet kept a firm grip on the moody creature and made sure the drying cloth was tight around him, keeping the mech's arms pressed to his sides and rotors against his back. There would be no clawing, so that was a good thing. With a huff Ratchet tipped Vortex over one knee so his aft was in the air. That got quite a lot of hissing and swearing out of the gray Combaticon, the struggle growing more frantic.

Ratchet ignored it and pushed the mesh fabric away from Vortex's aft and vented as he was forced to manually open the bot's valve panel. Vortex screeched, kicking as best he could but not managing to do a thing. Ratchet took the metal thermometer and made sure the starting temperature was neutral before he used two fingers to spread gray valve folds out of the way.

"Get away from me!" Vortex howled, throwing a serious fit.

"You have to get your temperature taken and since you won't open your damn face mask, this is how it's done! Now hold still and just get over it."

Ratchet slid the device into the soft valve and stopped when he felt it bump against an inner seal. Well, that was news. Vortex was untouched. He shrugged the idea off and kept him steady while he waited a half click for the thermometer to pick up the reading.

Vortex whined and fussed, not liking the strange feeling. His valve calipers clamped down around the lubed metal, his programming insisting it was a good thing to have things shoved into his valve. He personally didn't agree, but he had little choice now.

"There. You're fine and now I can fix you up," Ratchet grunted, taking the thermometer out and reading it. From there he dumped it into a sanitation station inside the wash racks and closed Vortex's panel.

"Don't touch me..."

"Vortex, you'll feel better once I get you taken care of. I'm a medic, you have to trust I'll do a good job."

Vortex amazingly did trust Ratchet. He let himself be dried off and then walked beside the head medic back to the main room. He sat on a cot and let Ratchet prepare a special cube for him. It made him feel warm and comfortable, so he was glad for that. The red and white mech checked his energon pulse rate as well as his coolant levels, but it wasn't scary and he behaved.

"I don't want to go back," Vortex whimpered when Ratchet said he had to leave med bay. Ratchet rubbed his helm and shook his head.

"Vortex, you have to go back. Where else can we keep you?"

"Can I come home with you?"

"WHAT?!"

"I miss you," Vortex mewled, purely adorable and hardly coming off as a killer. Ratchet was stunned, the mech all over the place on terms of his moods. First he was needy, then excited, then angry, then needy again. What the frag.

"You want to come home with me? You do realize I have to cuff your rotor blades and wrists for the whole time? We can't risk you pulling some weird escape move," Ratchet said, suddenly shaking his head and his hands. "What am I saying? No Vortex, you can't come home with me. It wouldn't be right. You have to go back into the holding room."

Vortex fought him the whole way there, clawing and kicking like his life depended on it. He threatened to rip off all the repairs and die from the corrosion and not eat his energon, but Ratchet continued on. Only when he had pushed Vortex back into the little cage did he finally feel his spark ache.

The helicopter mech came as close to the light bars as he could and stared at him like an abandoned mechanimal pup, begging to be taken home where he would be safe. It was his solar cycle off tomorrow, so maybe it wouldn't hurt...

"Don't go! I'll be good! I can be good! I'll be an Autobot now! Just don't leave me here!" Vortex called, looking like he wanted to go right through the light bars to be with him.

"Okay, okay! But you have to be cuffed like I said and we'll see how you behave."

Ratchet let the light bars down again and was tackled in a hug, Vortex clingy as could be. He felt he was going to be rescued and that was a wonderful feeling. Holding tightly to Ratchet's arm, he allowed himself to be chained up like the prisoner he was for transport.

"Alright, you. Behave," Ratchet ordered, leading Vortex back through med bay to a ground bridge there. He walked him through, so far the aerial being quite good.

Vortex trilled when he found himself outside a nice room, chained rotors quivering in the special cuffs. He wanted to go inside so badly! The mech looked to Ratchet and was led into the large room inside the Ark. It was apart from med bay, which was nice for the times he was given a break from his work.

Ratchet wondered if he was wrong to give Vortex the opportunity to cause trouble and possibly escape. But it didn't feel wrong like it should. The poor mech needed someone to keep him close and maybe then he would fully recover. Who knew what the inner Vortex really was?

"Let's get your cuffs off. You're locked in here, but I don't want trouble. Understand?"

"Can I have another bath?" Vortex asked, pointing to the built in wash rack in the back of the room.

"Yes, I suppose you can. Let's get it set up for you."


	18. The Present ~ Onslaught

Onslaught hated to admit he was starting to enjoy seeing Warpath every solar cycle. The tank had a refreshing personality that held little malice. While he was loud and boisterous, it was just how tanks tended to be. He wasn't a killer and he certainly wasn't out to get him like he first thought.

"Warpath, I think I need to walk. My back is healed enough to support my frame and if I do not try I will hardly recover. Help me up," Onslaught said, dragging himself towards the open entrance of the cell. Warpath was there, red plating reminding the blue truck of a ruby in the dull lights of a mine.

"Are you sure you can -Kerblast!- support yourself? Spinal struts are hard to heal!"

"I MUST recover. I will stand again," Onslaught snarled, more angry with himself and his vile frame than at Warpath. The tank knew how Onslaught felt and nodded, motioning him forward.

"I'll make sure you -Zam!- don't get hurt worse! Come on out!"

Onslaught never imagined it would be so hard to stand up, his weakened legs wobbling dangerously when he finally found the strength to stand upright outside the cage. Suddenly his knees buckled and he fell forward, arms flailing to collect balance he didn't have. Powerful arms caught him before he collapsed, Onslaught grabbing red plating tightly.

"Easy, Onslaught! You aren't -Boom!- ready for too much yet. Take it slow!"

Onslaught nodded firmly and held onto Warpath as the tank aided him in staying steady. His legs shook and refused to obey his commands, but he was standing upright again. That was a good sign! He shuffled across the floor as Warpath led him about the hallway, keeping a hand under one arm and the other on the small of his back.

"Release me, I can walk on my own."

"I'm not so sure about that, Onslaught. Remember what I said about going slow? Zap!"

"I will STAND and I will WALK! Let me go!" Onslaught snarled, yellow visor flaring brighter with rage.

"Alright..." Warpath answered, reluctantly letting go and backing away from the Combaticon leader.

Onslaught couldn't do it. The moment he was full released and had nothing to support him, the mech collapsed in a pile of aching metal. He let out a furious roar, so frustrated that he couldn't even walk. He was once one of the best fighters in the Decepticon ranks and now...now he was just a broken soldier.

"Onslaught..."

"Help me up," Onslaught groaned, nearly in washer fluid tears with the whole event. Warpath quickly picked him up and held him, the truck limp in his arms. How was he supposed to be a fighter when he was so useless?

"I've gotcha! Don't worry, you'll get stronger! We'll just work on it more often, okay?"

Onslaught was glad to be held and didn't say anything for the moment, simply leaning against Warpath. The tank gently rubbed his back, finding the places where it hurt and rubbing them away. The Combaticon leader didn't care that he was being held by an Autobot and pet like a mechanimal. It felt good and he was honestly too terrified to refuse and fall on his aft again.

"Do you really believe that I will walk again? My back was so damaged..."

"Ratchet -Zam!- got you all repaired! It'll just take a little longer than you want, Onslaught. But I know you're strong and you'll recover."

Onslaught nodded curtly, optical visor turned towards the ground. What the tank said was true, but he was not one with a great deal of patience. He wanted to walk right then and be able to fight and be strong, not have to be taught like a toddling sparkling.

"Help me back to my cage. I wish to be left alone."

"You don't have to go back there. I want you to -Whoosh!- come with me. To my quarters. It's a real room with a desk and more comforts than here. You need a real berth to -Pow!- recharge on and rest that back. I'll sleep on the floor."

"Warpath, really, there is no need to do that for me-"

"I want to. They treat you like mechanimals, but I don't see any beasts here. I only see bots."

With that said, Warpath slid an arm around Onslaught's upper chest so he could be supported while he walked. If the mech wanted to be stronger, he could start by forcing his frame back into function. His legs would become stronger the more he used them and kept working at it.

"And you're allowed to do this?" Onslaught asked, rising an optical ridge. Warpath nodded.

"If we think you're ready to -Zowie!- come out of here, we can do whatever we want to you. Not in a bad way, though!"

Onslaught wondered why he even asked. What did he care if Warpath got into trouble with the higher ups? It wasn't his fault the tank wanted to walk him around and take him back to his room. But there was something in the blue truck that made him want to protect Warpath as much as the tank was trying to protect him. He was sure others made fun of him for his speech issue and it made the Combaticon's jaw clench with frustration.

'Great. Now I feel possessive over an Autobot. I bet this is what the little slags wanted all along. They put the nicer ones in the brig to work with us and turn everyone into weak, soft sparked fools,' he thought, glowering as he struggled to walk to the locked door of the brig. 'And I hate to admit their little plan worked on me.'

Onslaught barely made it to the door when his knees gave out again and he slumped in the arm that held him. His hands clawed into Warpath's plating in desperation, his processor sure he would be dumped on the floor if he didn't gain some kind of hand hold. Thankfully Warpath didn't seem to mind being grabbed, simply hefting the Combaticon back up onto his pedes again.

"You'll get strong again. Don't worry."

"How far away is your room?"

"Not too far. We'll make it."

Onslaught didn't make it. He had to be picked up like a youngling and carried the rest of the way. His faceplate burned red hot with embarrassment and shame, hating every click as he was held. No one should be able to manhandle him! And yet there he was, being toted about like a toy. Warpath could sense his hate for it and hurried them to the room, avoiding contact so no one would ever have to know.

Thankfully the room was much nicer than Onslaught had imagined. The quarters on the Nemesis were small and sparsely decorated, the berths hard and the entire area quite spartan. But the Autobots were different. They got decently sized rooms with nice berths, along with mesh blankets and pillows for added comfort. There was even room for a small shelf of data pads and a desk for working.

"Here we are! It's pretty -Kerbam!- nice, huh? Much better than a little cage."

"It's much better than what I ever remember having. How long can I stay before you get into trouble?" Onslaught hummed, stretching when he was placed down on the berth. Warpath laughed, optics shining brightly in the dim lights.

"As long as you want!"

Onslaught watched as the tank settled down for the lunar cycle, getting out a blanket and pillow from his subspace and setting it down on the floor. Warpath was just about to curl up there when Onslaught spoke, glad his voice sounded confident.

"You can't sleep on the floor. I'm sure there's room in the berth for two."

"Are you sure about that? I don't want to -Kazam!- crowd you!"

"I'll be fine, Warpath."

The next thing Onslaught knew was warmth, Warpath's big frame shuffling in beside him in the berth. It was one of the most pleasant things he had ever felt, the truck making a deep sigh of approval. He could get used to this. It felt safe and comfortable and right, as if their frames had been meant to fit together like that forever.

Warpath rolled onto his side and looked at Onslaught for a moment before he reached out and curled an arm around Onslaught's waist, pulling him up against his chest plates. He could feel the Combaticon's spark thumping behind thick armor, his hand softly petting along his spinal strut. From what he could tell, Onslaught was feeling the same 'correctness' from the proximity.

"Warpath..."

"I feel it, too."

The two mechs snuggled closer, sparks syncing until they beat as one, healthy and strong and full of life. This was the right thing for them and each knew deep down they had found their sparkmate. Not many bots did anymore. War kept them apart and often other relationships formed and pushed the true soulmate bond into the background.

"Can we?"

"I might hurt you. Pow!"

"Who said you'd be the top dog?" Onslaught teased, a soft growl rising in his throat after he spoke. Warpath hugged him tighter.

"You're not in condition to be the one on top and you know it."

Onslaught had no idea how this just worked. They had been enemies not too long ago and now they were cuddled up together sharing Warpath's berth. The mighty Combaticon leader had fallen, seduced and head over heels in love with a tank that had Turret's syndrome.

"This seriously can't be real. We hated each other not long ago!"

"It's real! Want me to pinch you?"

"No, not yet. Save the kinky stuff for later," Onslaught snickered, glad when he got a booming laugh out of his tank mech. Yes, his. No one else would be having Warpath ever again.

Warpath pulled back his face mask after he tucked Onslaught under his frame, settling himself on top. With a soft huff, he leaned close and nuzzled his exposed cheek against the blue mech's face mask in a silent gesture for him to open up. Onslaught did without much hesitation, his mouth and nose soon free.

"You're one of the most handsome bots I've ever seen..." Onslaught murmured, reaching up to touch Warpath's face. He was swept away with the moment, not caring anymore if it wasn't what he should do. Decepticons didn't mingle like this with anyone other than their own!

'But the times have changed and the war is well over,' he told himself, grateful when Warpath took the lead and pulled them together for a kiss.

Onslaught didn't care if he wasn't supposed to be submissive, either, opening his mouth and allowing Warpath's glossa inside. It was slick and warm, carrying the unique and wonderful taste of the tank with it. Onslaught moaned in his throat when Warpath pressed his hips into his, heated crotch plates feeling like they might melt at any moment.

-Open up if you want to go that far, Ons. You're -Kazowie!- burning up!-

Onslaught slid his valve panel back the instant he felt a hot spike bump against his lower middle plating, making another muffled sound as Warpath kissed him more passionately, holding him as close as he could in their embrace.

Warpath guided his spike between soft valve folds, glancing between them to see they were a pretty shade of blue like Onslaught's dominant color. The sharp tip of his red breeding organ slid inside inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside his soon-to-be mate's valve. Calipers rippled and squeezed around him and he finally broke the kiss to rumble a husky moan.

"Haven't used this much."

"Nope...not in a long time," Onslaught somehow replied, his frame shaking from the explosion of feelings. "Now get to it and frag me hard."

Warpath did just that, the tank impressive when it came to strength. His thrusts went deep and the tip of his spike often pricked the gestation chamber wall. Each time it did Onslaught gasped, kicking slightly at the intrusion. It pinched slightly, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. But while tanks were known for strength and size, they were never creatures of endurance. Within a little more than a breem, Warpath was slowing down and nearing release, tension in his spike high.

"Ready?"

"Give it to me."

Warpath overloaded with a shout, copious amounts of transfluid flooding into the pounded valve. His already girth endowed spike tied them together with a hefty knot, getting quite a squeal out of Onslaught when it happened. The pressure was intense and it was starting to hurt, transfluid causing his middle plating to shift slightly and distend his belly as if he were with young. Thankfully the tank had pulled back before the gestation chamber, conscious of the fact they couldn't have sparklings now.

"Primus, you're amazing."

"It's nice to hear it from -Pow!- someone like you. You're my sparkmate, Onslaught. All this time and we -Whoosh!- didn't have a clue."

"Just be thankful we have each other now. It felt like the war was never going to end, but I'm sure glad it did. It allowed us to finally find each other," Onslaught said, squeezing Warpath in a hug after they carefully rolled over onto their sides. "Just wait until we get back to Cybertron and rebuild. Then we'll finally know what a Golden Age is."

"It won't be gold, it'll be diamond," Warpath assured with another hearty laugh as the two newfound lovers settled in for rest.


	19. The Present ~ Swindle

Never in a million vorns did Lockdown think Swindle would be that much work. Sure, he needed to have some of his favorite possessions around and get some calls from a customer, but he never knew the tan and purple bot was such a high attention, high maintenance bot.

"Your ship needs a lot of work, Lockdown! I think you've been letting it go," Swindle said, padding casually over to the control chair where the green and black mech said working on the coordinates. Lockdown scowled, heavy set jaw clenched.

"We've been over this twice now, Swin. If you have a problem with something, fix it yourself. I don't care how the ship looks on the inside so long as it flies."

"But you should care! I don't know how you could stand living in such squaller!"

"Living in squaller, huh?" Lockdown muttered to himself, shaking his head in annoyance. Thank you, Swindle. What a lovely guest...

"Where do you keep your energon? A bot could die in here from starvation before anything else!"

"Get your own, I know you have a ton of that slag hidden away in your second subspace. I picked you up because it was profitable, not because I want you to permanently move in and pester me."

"Really? I think you like the company."

"Do I look like I enjoy it?!" Lockdown snarled, grabbing an empty energon cube and whipping it at the jeep. "Frag off and go to your room. Or go try to steal something like always. Just leave me alone so I can put this thing in orbit."

Swindle flipped Lockdown's back off as he wandered away, annoyed that he couldn't hang around and bug the bigger mech. It was fun and Lockdown normally had a pretty good sense of humor and wit. Right then he was probably stressed about getting through Earth's many defenses, in the form of Cybertronians and humans alike.

The jeep went back to his room as Lockdown had said, settling down for a quick cat nap. The thrum of the ship was soothing since he knew it meant freedom, not confinement. Now they he was away from the Autobots, he could be dropped off on some far away planet, make some credits, and get himself another ship.his had surely been confiscated by the damnable Autobots by now. They had to have searched all the Decepticon bases.

When he woke from recharge, he could tell Death's Head was in orbit and they were finally off Earth, the sounds of the powerful engines roaring muffled by many walls of reinforced metal. What a glorious sound! Soon he would be back in business and running the streets like he should.

Swindle rolled off the berth and went to find Lockdown, interested in some banter and company. As much as he pretended he didn't like being around others, it was nice to have some quality time with someone he could call his friend. If Lockdown wasn't, he wouldn't have come and risked his aft to rescue him from the horde of Autobots.

He found the muscle car working in his trophy room, quietly polishing a metal helm he had either stolen or ripped off someone's head. The hunter made a quiet grunt when weight suddenly rammed into him and arms curled around his neck, but in an affectionate and playful way. Growling deeply, he shook himself and hoped his spiked frame would draw some energon.

"Quit that. I know you like it."

"Someone's a little frisky tonight," Lockdown mused, his husky voice unimpressed by the behavior from his guest. Once again Swindle was proving to be a lot of work he didn't need.

"Can we do something?"

"Like what? Polishing my trophies would be welcome. Other than that, get out of here. I have a lot of work to do, kid."

"I'm not a kid, Lockdown. I'm nearly as old as you are. And as for helping, do I get paid overtime?"

Lockdown simply growled, shaking himself harder to dislodge the tan and purple leech. Problems never seemed to leave him. No matter what he did or how hard he tried, there was always something that wasn't right. Whether it was his own mismatched frame causing aches or deals falling through, something just didn't work.

"Swindle, leave."

"What got you into such a foul mood?"

"Your presence."

"Ooooh, feisty!" Swindle laughed, a hand running across Lockdown's jaw. "How did you get that fancy faceplate, anyway? Is it just paint or is it your plating's real color scheme?"

"Sire had it and passed it down. But whaddya care about that for? It's just a pattern."

"I was always curious. Anyway, how about we play around for a bit? You're done piloting the ship, so why not loosen up and have a bit of fun? I know you're capable of that. Well, you were once."

"What do you have in mind? If I'm not in the mood, I won't go for it. So make it tempting and I might get it up for ya."

"I was thinking pet play. You know, like you're my mechanimal for the night and I get to take care of you!" Swindle exclaimed, thinking that was the best idea he had had in a long time. It would be a great excuse to see if Lockdown was even capable of being cuddly. The look on his faceplate after he heard didn't look too cuddly, though.

"Pit, no. Next idea," Lockdown snorted, waving a dismissive hand.

"I'll pay you!"

Lockdown ground his denta plates together for a moment in consideration. "How much?"

"Two hundred credits!"

"Mmmm...no. Gotta try harder than that if you want it badly. I'm not excited."

"Five hundred?"

"Closer. Entice me."

"Fine, you pointy slag! Eight hundred with grooming included."

"I want one thousand and you have a deal," Lockdown said with a smirk.

"Fine! Take the credits and we're going to your suite."

Lockdown chuckled deeply as he took the small download of money, already saving it up for one of the fancy new weapons he wanted to import from Theta 9. It was a nice piece of equipment with a laser scope and acid chamber that could shoot a spray up to one hundred feet. He smirked stupidly when he thought of other liquids that might be spraying that lunar cycle.

"Alright, I want you on your hands and knees," Swindle snapped, swatting Lockdown's side. He grunted, turning to glare at Swindle. "I mean it! I paid way too many good credits for this!"

Lockdown lowered himself with hidden humiliation onto the floor of the room and sat with a thump like a naughty mechanimal would sit on its haunches. Swindle admired him for a moment, glad to be taller now and in control-if only for a lunar cycle. Either way, it was hot as Pit and he was already loving it. But he couldn't get the image of a cyber-panther out of his head when he looked down at his supposedly harmless pet.

"Let's groom you and make you look good before we rest. How does that sound, pet?" Swindle asked, getting a deep growl and a curled lip from Lockdown.

Swindle ignored the bad behavior and instead began to heft Lockdown over to the berth. The mech played the part well, squirming and hissing to make the process much more difficult. But Swindle was tough and determined, finally dumping Lockdown on the berth where he promptly curled up and glared with rubescent optics.

"Let's file those claws first."

Swindle pinned Lockdown faster than he could retaliate. For a moment he had forgotten just how quick and agile the jeep was. Being small, he had skills to make up for it. Lockdown snarled when his neck was pinned down under a strong forearm and his torso kept still by two legs. Pinned like a mechanimal, indeed. He hated and loved it at the same time.

Swindle took out a file from his second subspace and grabbed Lockdown's right hand, splaying his fingers do he could check the claws. Not many bots got a chance to look at how Lockdown took care of himself. It was a good thing because the bot pretty much had no sense of hygiene. His fingers that were tipped sharply with typical Decepticon style claws were cracked and some notched off, blunt and useless.

"You need to take better care of yourself! I know you go for the rogue look but this is too much."

"Swindle...don't touch my claws. Swindle! I mean it!" Lockdown snapped, trying to rise but finding the pressure on his neck grow worse and his vision blur with black dots. The little imp of a jeep could make him unconscious on a klick if he wanted.

"Nuh-uh! Naughty pet! Stay still."

Lockdown hissed, snarled, and cursed as Swindle started working on his claws, the file scraping across the metal to make both an uncomfortable noise and feeling. He tried to roll, but Swindle refused to lose hold on him. So he had to lay there and deal as the other businessmech went about grooming him, playing the part of a very unwilling pet.

Swindle knew he did a good job when he finally finished both hands, checking each finger again before he let Lockdown up. The mech pounced on him, newly sharpened claws drawing some energon from between armor plates. Red optics widened with surprise just before he rolled off and examined himself.

"You...didn't do too bad. Gotta hand it to ya, I have to say. I expected much worse."

"A little trust, Lockdown! That's all I ask! Now, pet...how about a bath?"

Lockdown promptly returned to his mechanimal part and went scampering under the berth, snickering when he heard Swindle cursing his poor choice to let him go free.


	20. The Present ~ Vortex

Ratchet was glad after the second bath that Vortex was tired out. There would be less trouble that way. Rubbing one of his tired optics with the back of his hand, Ratchet went to double check that he had locked the berthroom door. Vortex watched him, optics curious as his best buddy returned and went right for the berth.

"You get to stay on the floor and don't you dare try anything. I want you to behave for once."

"I can be good! I'll prove it!" Vortex assured, snuggling into the makeshift berth of blankets and pillows Ratchet had made for him on the floor.

"Just be glad I'm feeling generous and didn't put you in those rotor cuffs for the lunar cycle. If you're good like you say, I'll even take off the wrist cuffs tomorrow," Ratchet said, stretching out in his berth and yawning quietly. "Rest well, Vortex."

Vortex didn't like having any cuffs on him at all, but he'd prove they weren't needed. Shuffling his rotor blades as he nestled into the blankets, the helicopter started to drift off into recharge. Meanwhile, on the berth, Ratchet let himself go into a light cycle of sleep, not requiring nearly as much rest as others due to his medic build. There was no way he was going all the way into recharge with a volatile, potentially deadly mech in the same room.

About a cycle went by without any events, Vortex staying on his blankets with his chin resting on a pile of stacked pillows. Just as Ratchet was starting to get quite interested in the idea of falling completely asleep, he heard shuffling. Keeping his optics so dimly lit they still appeared to be in shut down, he watched as Vortex started rolling and kicking in his berth.

Vortex fought with the cuffs, trying to break them in all ways possible. He attempted to pry them off with his pedes as well as chew them, but none of his new ideas for escape worked. Whining quietly, he turned and looked up at the berth where Ratchet was laying. Rotors tucked comfortably against his back, the mech rose from his place on the floor and came over to the real berth.

Ratchet made sure to stay still but keep his intakes even, watching with growing irritation as well as nervousness as Vortex approached. The mech didn't seem like he was out for blood, but that was the scary thing about Vortex. One click he was sweet and the next he was deadly.

But what Vortex did next Ratchet would never have expected. He was ready to draw a blaster on him that he had hidden under a mesh pillow of the berth in case he needed to defend himself, but didn't reach for it. Instead he let Vortex come close and decide whether or not he would make any attack. Until the helicopter did something, he would remain 'asleep.'

Vortex whined softly, shackled wrists straining to break the chain connecting them. It was no use, but the mech still tried. Then without any further fussing, he padded over to the empty side of the berth and settled down there, frame sinking into the plush comfort. Ratchet just stared.

Vortex didn't stop there, the Combaticon soon shuffling closer to Ratchet. He made a fussy sound, but got no response and pouted behind his face mask. It was obvious by the glow of his visor changing in intensity, the once bright red turned to a duller vermillion. The next thing Ratchet knew, Vortex had slid under the blanket and nestled right up against his side, chin resting on his chest plates.

Ratchet jerked out of surprise even though he knew Vortex was up to something. He grabbed the gray mech by his nape and held him tightly in a pressure point so he was limp and harmless. The Combaticon growled softly, one leg weakly twitching.

"I've seen way better assassination attempts than that. Vortex, go back to your berth."

"Nooooo...I want to stay here."

"Well, news flash!-you can't. Get off," Ratchet snorted, releasing Vortex's neck and letting the bot move along. But instead of removing himself, Vortex just weaseled his way under one of Ratchet's arms.

"I want to be good."

"You can be good if you go back to where you're supposed to be," Ratchet said gruffly, finding it harder and harder to get rid of the warm and admittedly affectionate berth partner. Vortex just nuzzled into their now shared pillow.

"I'm supposed to be here...with you."

"Quit it. If you're horny, we have toys for that."

"I want YOUR toy," Vortex giggle-snorted. Ratchet groaned in frustration.

"Dammit, Vortex! Get out of my berth!"

Vortex knew he'd pushed it too far and quickly scrambled over Ratchet's frame and onto the floor like a strange mechanimal. From there he slinked over to his berth and curled up in a little ball of hurt, optical visor watching Ratchet. The medic refused to be pulled into the strange little world the mech lived in, trying not to make any optic contact or feel bad.

He hated himself as another cycle went by and Vortex didn't sleep. The mech was close to being in recharge, but he lay without a blanket covering and shivered the whole time. He tried multiple times to move a blanket, but his cuffed hands made it hard. So finally Ratchet gave in, making a soft clicking sound with his glossa like one would use to call a pet.

"Vortex, you can come on the berth. But no snuggling or any of that."

Vortex was back with Ratchet almost instantly, the helicopter making those wonderful little trills and chirps as he settled in. The head medic cursed himself when he pulled a blanket over them both and tucked Vortex's frame right in beside his.

"See? I was good. I win!"

Ratchet shook his head, reaching out to stroke along Vortex's helm. He was shocked when the Combaticon pulled back his face mask and leaned forward to get the pets. But the moment Ratchet touched his helm, Vortex bit him. The medic made a loud yelp and flicked Vortex on the nose, the mech hissing softly and recoiling.

"Why do you do these strange things?!" Ratchet demanded, sitting upright and waving his aching hand. "Why do you cuddle one click and then bite me another?"

"I didn't want to be touched yet."

"Dammit, Vortex. Just...dammit."

Vortex rolled over onto his back and yawned, optical visor bright. He seemed innocent again, just cuddly and quiet. Ratchet folded his arms across his chest, unimpressed by the bad behavior but allowing Vortex to stay. All he would do was mope for the rest of the lunar cycle if he was pushed away.

"You can touch me now," Vortex said after a few more clicks of silence.

"Why would I want to when you bit me the last time?"

"I'm sorry."

Vortex rested his chin against Ratchet's shoulder and watched him hopefully, rotors held at ease on his back while blankets surrounded him. Everything was better now. He was safe and Ratchet wouldn't hurt him unless he was bad. So he really would try not to bite. It was just hard when no one had ever touched him nicely before.

Ratchet finally gave in and decided it was fine to try. The worst that could happen would be Vortex trying to snap at him again. So he gingerly reached out and placed a hand on the back of the mech's helm, slowly petting him. A soft purr came from the dominantly gray bot and Ratchet felt a smile on his faceplate start to form.

"That's it....easy...easy, now..."

Soon his hand was all the way to the rotors of the helicopter mech, stroking them one by one and even massaging the base where they connected to his frame. It had been repaired after the battle and was likely a bit stiff from underuse. Vortex chirped like a happy Seeker and nestled even closer, practically draping himself over Ratchet's torso to get closer.

Ratchet didn't need the mech to say anything with words, feelings now readily being shared via optic contact. The medic could finally see the beginnings of trust and affection in a place he never thought he'd see it. Vortex was not just a killer, ready to bring much more to others than pain. He'd been abused, but Ratchet was willing to help him recover from the mental hurt.

"Can I stay?"

"Yes, you can stay. And I'll take your cuffs off."

"Kinky!" Vortex cackled, sliding his arms across Ratchet's chest plates until cuffed wrists were right under his faceplate. "Now the cuffs come off and I can be naughty."

"I have no idea where you get your little fantasies, but I'll let you keep dreaming."

Ratchet smirked and unlatched the cuffs with the special key pass code, scanning a small chip across one of the chain links. The manacles fell away and then Vortex was free, rotors flicking excitedly as he flexed his clawed digits. It felt good to be free!

"Feel better?" Ratchet laughed as Vortex pounced on him, hugging tightly.

"So much better! Ratchet, can we stay like this? I really want to stay."

"Always. You can always stay."

Ratchet found himself laughing when a wriggling Combaticon was in his arms, mask pulled back to show he was grinning, too. Behind the mask was a surprisingly handsome yet rough faceplate. Some scars marred the area, but it was nothing horrible and just gave the bot a tougher look. He'd seen his fair share of battles.

"You're a handsome one, I have to say. There are much worse to share the berth with."

"You're good, too."

Vortex was a simple creature, but in a good way. He said what was on his mind as that was just how he thought. Ratchet was finding it quite nice compared to others who played games and refused to just have some fun. He smiled again and rubbed along the helicopter's spinal strut, fondling rotors gently but with enough pressure to be comfortable.

"Are we going to recharge or are we going to try some naughty things?"

"Like what?" Ratchet asked, tilting his head to one side. With Vortex naughty could mean just about anything.

"Like dirty talking and fragging. I'm in the mood."

"Vortex, I don't think you would find my dirty talking skills very good. It's not something I usually take part in."

"I can help you," Vortex said, leaning close so his lips were right against Ratchet's audio receptor. "I want you to put your thing in my thing...handsome."

Ratchet guffawed with laughter and patted Vortex's pert aft, getting a soft growl and some harder mouthing at his neck. There would be no dirty talking for the rest of the lunar cycle though as both of them were far too tired to engage in such activities. But the offer was out there and both were happy to take it when the time presented itself.


	21. The Present ~ Brawl

"Hello, Brawl! Are you feeling better?" First Aid asked, cheerful as he walked up to the light bars of the cell, punching in the lock code soon after speaking. "I think you should come out for a walk if you're up to it."

It had been a good deca cycle since the escape attempt and being smacked down by Ratchet, so Brawl was a very changed mech. The rough and tumble personality was still there, but he knew better than to try and break free. It just wasn't going to happen and he had come to terms with it. He would stay near First Aid and hope the bot would somehow bring him to freedom.

"Hey. I'm feeling good," Brawl grunted back, crawling out of the cell. He was bigger than First Aid, but not in control. Sometimes it really bothered him, but not right then. First Aid was his ticket out.

His wounds had healed exceptionally fast thanks to constant care from the young medic, First Aid keeping a close optic on even the smallest of things. Brawl was thankful for it although he would never say so out loud, feeling like he was back to his original frame state at last.

"Wonderful! Come with me to the main med bay and you can help me move some heavy crates. Oh, and you can help me culture more nanites of various kinds if you would like-"

"Nah, I'm only good for lugging stuff around. None of that science slag for me, First Aid. You gotta remember what I am. I'm a tank. We're killers, not healers," Brawl said, huffing softly. The bot was stupid to think just because he was behaving that he'd go running around doing all sorts of medic things.

"That's quite alright. Any help you can offer will be useful!" First Aid assured, leading the way out of the cell block to the main room.

Brawl saw the crates of medical energon and got to work stacking them on the right shelf, First Aid keeping a close optic on him but otherwise seeming unworried for once. It made the tank exceptionally angry that he'd been made into an obedient mechanimal with a muzzle, but in a way what did it matter? It was stupid to think he'd get away from that fate anymore, so it was best to just go with it.

"There. Done."

Brawl went right to a medical cot and curled up, not interested in doing much else. His job was done, so that was the end of it. First Aid seemed fine with him laying there, but he wasn't entirely sure. Whatever. It wasn't like the little bot would be able to move him or anything if he didn't approve.

"Brawl, we should go for a walk around the ship. Your legs need to get strong again after being in that little cell."

"You gonna put me on a leash and walk me around like a big mechanimal? Come on, First Aid. Why would I want to be paraded around the Ark like the caged beast that I am? I'd rather stay here where no one bugs me...except you."

"Brawl, please! You need to do exercises!" First Aid exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

"Then take me to a training room! I don't walk. Tanks hate to do that unless we need to."

"We'll go right away to a training room! And I will not leash you like a mechanimal, I promise."

Brawl didn't much care, hardly listening past the agreement to go. He wanted nothing more than to burn off some pent up steam in a training room. He was bred to fight and kill, so being able to do something he knew so well was comforting and helped him heal in its own way.

***

Training went quite well, Brawl actually smiling behind his face mask when he finished, taking down one of the hardest targets with ease. The hidden grin stemmed from the cheers and clapping of First Aid, the little medic enthralled by the moves the tank made. The praise had partially been to boost the mech's attitude and self confidence, so it made First Aid even happier to see it had worked quite well.

"You are quite a warrior! Now let's go back to the cells. I hate to leave you there but...it must be done."

"Thanks for all this," Brawl said, trying to be more like an Autobot for once. He just wanted to get across the feeling of exultation to the other bot.

"You're very welcome! I'm glad you feel better, Brawl. It's my job to make sure every bot and every creature feels good and well cared for."

Brawl felt a gentle tug at his spark and he looked at the medic, orange optics warmer than they had ever been. The mech in front of him, First Aid, had trusted him to change. He had bet on it, keeping him safe from Ratchet and any others who would have hurt him rather than help and had showed him there was a different way. Maybe fighting out of situations he didn't like wasn't always the best approach.

"First Aid, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, Brawl?"

"Will you spend a lunar cycle with me? Just us? Because my spark's going fragging crazy when I think about you now. Like something clicked into place."

First Aid's cheeks went hot red with embarrassment when the tank came closer, looming over him but not in an aggressive way. It was more of a protective move, the big mech willing to keep First Aid safe from anything dangerous that might be out there.

"I...I...um...B-Brawl, I-"

Brawl's sluggish mind finally figured out what he was feeling, a big paw of a hand taking First Aid by his shoulder with surprising gentleness. His face mask slid back and showed a ruggedly handsome faceplate behind it, the mech's nasal ridge showing it had broken a long time ago but healed relatively well. The whole time his spark continued to tug, urging him closer to the other mech.

"Please tell me you feel it, too. Please," Brawl nearly begged, worried when he saw the medic start to tremble. The poor thing probably thought he was about to hurt him or something.

"It's...unusual s-spark behavior. Quite like..."

"A bonded pair? First Aid, I think we're meant to be," Brawl said, finally having come to terms with everything. That inner peace had allowed his spark to fully reach out and pull him towards his intended mate, First Aid.

"Oh dear! I think we...really are destined. It will upset Ratchet very much!" First Aid giggled, the sound music to Brawl's audio receptors.

"Frag Ratchet! Actually, I'd rather frag YOU," Brawl rumbled, voice growing husky as he leaned down and mouthed at First Aid's neck.

The little medic mewled lay down almost immediately after the mouthing, submissive as could be. It worked out well for Brawl, knowing he was a total dom. Making another loud sound in his engine, the tank settled over First Aid and glanced once at the training room door, glad it was private and locked already to keep him in if he tried an escape.

"You're such a handsome little sub! Open up that valve cover, will you?"

First Aid did, the shy bot letting programming take the lead. This was his sparkmate and he would be safe. As much as Brawl liked to be rough, the red and white medic knew he wouldn't harm him on purpose in any way. It was an unspoken feeling, something he just knew to be true.

Brawl's spike cover sprang back and his spike was freed, the big, rather bland colored organ ready for action. The length was a deep brown with green highlights at the edge of each metal plate, but it was nothing exceptionally fancy. But the spike was healthy and sharply tipped. It would do its intended job of impregnating a Carrier quite well.

"Brawl, we s-shouldn't do this here..." First Aid squeaked, visor bright with worry when he glanced at the door.

"It's locked up tight, First Aid. Quit worrying about stuff and open up. I'll protect you."

First Aid believed him. Brawl really would keep him safe if things got bad. Who better to have as a bodyguard than a massive, forty-five ton tank? No one would try to pick on him then! Even Ratchet might think twice since Brawl was fully recovered and much stronger.

His valve cover pulled back and revealed soft protoflesh there, this valve folds pure white. Brawl rumbled happily when he caught the scent of his mate and nuzzled at his cheeks, seeking attention as he lined himself up. He wasn't sure if First Aid was sealed, but he really hoped he wasn't. He didn't want to be the one to hurt him the first time.

"Gotta say...you're pretty adorable," Brawl said, grinning when First Aid pulled his face mask back as well. He had an unscarred face and a handsome one at that, mouth open slightly with surprise at the event that was about to begin.

"T-thank you!"

"You ready, handsome?" Brawl asked, growling softly as he mouthed at First Aid's neck.

"Yes."

Brawl grunted and jerked his hips forward, his spike sliding between valve folds with ease thanks to the copious amounts of lubricant. Someone was aroused-more than he had thought he would be. His big spike made a tight fit, but he only heard little mewls and whimpers that were of mild discomfort, but not pain.

"You good?"

"Yes....it's tight..."

"You'll be fine."

Brawl shuddered when he was fully situated in that wonderfully gripping slit and mouthed sloppily at First Aid's neck and jaw, covering him with oral fluids. First Aid made a quiet laugh and wrapped his arms around the big brute he'd somehow fallen in love with. He knew he was one of those special sparks that was destined to find the right bot with a matching signature, but to think it was Brawl! It was unreal.

Brawl rumbled when he was hugged, a smile on his faceplate for once in a long time when he heard that laugh and saw he could bring a lot more than pain to others. First Aid was happy...because of him. It made his spark soar, his life energy pulsing faster. His life had been hurt and misery, but now he was coming out of it.

'Had to fight, but I think I might have to do that constantly anymore,' he realized, hips starting to move. First Aid gasped, his mouth soon captured in a deep kiss.

Brawl picked up the pace right away, not one for slow and steady. It was still lovemaking even if it was fast. Besides, tanks and larger models didn't have the endurance to hold out for that long. He'd give First Aid all he could and then finish. He heard the muffled vocals of his mate and smirked into the kiss before he broke it, wanting the sounds of coupling to be made out loud.

"Brawl! Please! Brawl, oh Primus!" First Aid cried, grabbing at the tank's shoulders as he felt tightness in his lower middle to signal he was about to overload.

"Yeah, that's right! Scream my name, First Aid! Frag, yeah!" Brawl barked excitedly, orange optical visor bright as he sped up further and gave his last few thrusts.

First Aid squealed when the already big spike increased in size, thing them together before transfluid shot into his frame. Brawl hadn't pricked the gestation chamber wall, but his fluids still made a lump in the smaller mech's middle plating. The tank seemed to enjoy the sight of it, rumbling in his loud engine as he nuzzled and mouthed at his companion yet again.

"Did you like it?"

"Very much," First Aid said, cupping Brawl's faceplate. "You're a good mech, Brawl."

"Don't get all sappy with me, you little slag. I'm not good, but I'm better."

"Better, then. You are most certainly a better mech."

First Aid hugged Brawl and the tank lowered his head so their cheeks touched, optics shutting off so he could think. This would be his new life and he embraced it just as readily as he did First Aid.


	22. The Present ~ Blast Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. I just didn't have much to say :/

"How can you finish data pads so quickly?! I have never met another mech who could go through them so fast!" Skyfire said, optics warm as he watched Blast Off reject the most recent one he had brought. Apparently it had already been read...twice.

"I had little else to do in my younger solar cycles and chose not to get involved with other bots. As you can see, my social skills are somewhat lacking," Blast Off said, leaning back against the wall behind the berth as he spoke. He was at ease, chunky shuttle wings held at a neutral angle.

Skyfire watched him with a proud smile. It had taken so much to get the aloof bot turned around and willing to speak with anyone. Honestly, the heat cycle had been the breakthrough. Once the bot had asked for help and was offered that trust he was searching for, he calmed and now Skyfire considered them friends. He felt Blast Off felt the same, but never asked.

"Your social skills are just fine. I wouldn't worry."

"I won't worry, seeing as I can't really leave this place," Blast Off grunted, waving a hand absentmindedly about the room. He was still in the recovery room even though he'd long since recovered. It was mostly so he wouldn't be moved to a cage situation, but Skyfire didn't mention it since it would stress him out.

"You can leave, Blast Off. Just...come with me. I'll make sure you're fine."

Blast Off waited for a moment and then smiled, his optical visor surprisingly bright. From what Skyfire could tell, the offer wasn't being dismissed right away like it had been before. He'd tried to invite the other shuttle to come with him to his room a great deal, all of the previous offers turned down one way or another. But now there was hope he'd agree.

"What is your room like? I need to know before I commit to anything."

Skyfire grinned. "It's quite spacious and there is room for two if you would like to join me."

"I suppose if it isn't too horrid I can bring myself to stay with you."  
"And when we get back to Cybertron and start rebuilding, we can have whatever place you would like."

"Are you saying that I am yours now?"

"I'm hinting at it, yes," Skyfire chuckled, beaming when he saw Blast Off return the gesture.

"So long as it is nice, I will be happy to."

Skyfire grabbed Blast Off up in a hug, the big shuttle grunting when he was embraced and given a good squeeze. The bot who thought he would never care about anyone again found his arms moving up to return the gesture, optics shutting off with pleasure. Safety. Love. That was what he had wanted and he finally found it.

"Let's get you out of here first. Then we can discuss what we want to rebuild."

Blast Off and Skyfire left the recovery room, trusting one another that nothing would go wrong on the way out. Blast Off that no one would attack him and Skyfire that his 'prisoner' would not attempt an escape. No events happened on the way to the Autobot's room so both were calm, exchanging a gentle nuzzle when they slipped past the door.

"It's good to see the real you, Blast Off. I was worried I might never be allowed to get that close."

"I still do not fully trust you, Skyfire, but you can prove to me you are everything you say with time. It heals all wounds, yes?" Blast Off said, although his tone was morose. He knew that was not true as he still ached over his past. He'd done his best to wall it out, but he could not fully forget.

"Hopefully you'll be willing to confide in me what hurts you."

"With time, Skyfire."

The tricolor shuttle nodded in understanding. When Blast Off was ready, he would make that clear. For now they had to focus on the present and know that things would only get better from there.


	23. The Future ~ The Combaticons

Onslaught had never dreamed he would see something so beautiful again. He stood proudly at the edge of a balcony, hands curled around the iron railing as he watched the sunset die and moons rise. It was glorious to be home, but most of all because he was there with his best friend.

"You like the -Zam!- view?" Warpath asked with a knowing smile, his face mask pulled back to show expressions. The war was truly over and there was no need to hide behind masks anymore. Onslaught chuckled, turning to embrace his mate when he heard pede steps draw closer.

"Yes, of course I love it! Warpath, you're squeezing too hard, even for me!"

The tank barked his laughter and hushed Onslaught's complaint with a kiss, the truck quieting as expected. He melted into the other mech's hold, glad to be with him and steal a moment. It was hard to come by with work and their most beloved creation.

"Papa! Dada!" a squeaking voice of a youngling called, the toddler barely old enough to be in youngling stage as he came wobbling out of the main room. "No crib! No!"

"What is he doing out here?! Warpath, he could fall through the railing bars!" Onslaught yelped, leaping from the arms of his mate in order to rescue the oblivious tank mechling. Detonate giggled happily when he was picked up, squealing when Onslaught spun him around once for good measure.

"Did you climb out again? Are you hurt? Tell Papa if you have," Onslaught rumbled, checking his sparkling quite closely.  
"He's fine, Ons. You have tough plating and I -Kerbam!- have even thicker hide! He's got both our CNA, so -Blam!- quit worrying about it and let the kid have some fun! Don't tell me you didn't escape your crib when you were -Pow!- younger!" Warpath chuckled, coming over to take the tankling from his Carrier's arms.

Detonate was a midsize tank already predicted to be bigger than his Sire. Warpath was small, only sixteen tons and build for speed. Detonate took his size from Onslaught and his tank form from Warpath. His optics were a rare emerald green while his plating was a deep purple with red detailing. He had no face mask that they knew of and no optical visor, so his bright smile could always be seen when he laughed or found something amusing-which was often.

"I don't care, he should be watched closely and not be kept in a crib he can get out of! What if he fell and broke his neck?! We wouldn't even go back inside until we were done-"  
"Don't worry about it, Onslaught! He's fine now! Boom! Just go with it, mech."

Warpath was easy going and always had been, not finding the little escape attempts by their mechling much of a worry. It was all done innocently. If no one was in the room when the little guy woke up from a nap, he would take it into his own hands to find where they were. There had been so many 'no crib' moments that it wasn't even worth keeping track now.

"Dada, I wan' play 'uck game!"

"You want to -Zam!- play with your trucks? Alright, show me the way!"

Detonate pointed firmly to the other room and Warpath went lumbering into the massive penthouse playroom. It was all for the little sparkling, the only one they had.

It was a sore subject, but Onslaught had birthed more than one sparkling. Just when everyone thought the bot was getting a break and life was giving him a chance to truly be happy, it still robbed him of some joy. A trine of young had been brought into the world, but one was stillborn upon arrival and the other died two cycles after due to deflated vents. The ordeal had nearly killed Onslaught, but he fought on and now cherished his only sparkling as dearly as he could.

"Make sure he stays where you can see him. I'm going to get something for us to eat. It's nearly third fuel time," Onslaught called from their form of a kitchen, going into cabinets to pull out assorted metals and energon types.

He worked in the kitchen and felt a smile on his face when the booming laughter of Warpath and a squeakier but destined-to-be-loud squeal echoed his voice. Two tanks that were going to be as loud and boisterous as ever.

'Hopefully he'll have his Carrier's logical thinking with just a hint of silliness. But I have a feeling he will be like a mini Warpath in the end. But he will be strong, and most importantly, he is our sparkling.'

***

Swindle knew it was time and he'd been quick to com a medic. Lockdown was out of course, looking for more items they could sell from the hub world they'd stopped at, and only a cycle after he had left the contractions began. He'd held out as long as he could, but still his mate had no returned and essentially forced him to spend credits and call the emergency medic to come assist him.

'They should make manuals on how to have sparklings! I could sell them for a great deal!' Swindle told himself, trying to keep his mind off the pain. It was getting worse and still nothing had happened in terms of 'goods' so to speak.

"You're far along enough to start pushing when you're ready," the medic said, the femme calm as could be as she removed a hand from his valve, having just checked to see if he had cycled wide enough for the birthing to start. "Is the Sire of the litter intentionally missing the birthing process?"

"He went out on some errands, miss. Commed him already and he's coming. Speaking of errands...does a rare energon clotting powder interest you? It could be yours for just four hundred-aaahhhhk, it hurts! It hurts, Primus help me!"

"WHAT'S GOING ON?! Back off, femme. He's mine!" Lockdown snarled, optics narrowed when he saw the femme there. Whatever she was doing, she needed to get the frag out or he'd kill her.

"So you're the Sire. Your mate is beginning to push and he'll have the sparklings out in about...seven cycles, give or take a couple depending on how inclined he is to speed things up and work hard."

"I'm inclined! I'm inclined! Just get them out!"

Lockdown settled, finally noticing the medical cross on the femme's arm. She was safe. In fact, she was helping his mate which made him feel more relaxed. He didn't know anything about birthing stuff as he'd never been involved with it before. Except for some mechanimal puppies.

"Come on, Swinny. Go for it and quit your howling," he urged, hoping that would do something. Swindle didn't shut up and didn't seem to do much else other than lay there wallowing in his misery.

Lockdown had taken to pacing the room when things got louder yet, poor Swindle struggling through the labor. The medic was keeping a careful watch on him and told him to push when the contractions came closer together. Swindle screeched and gave a big push as told the femme making a pleased sound.

"I can see the helm of the first one. Two more good pushes and the little one will be here! You're doing well, Swindle."

"Help....Primus, help!" Swindle cried, hushing only a little when Lockdown stiffly hugged him and rubbed the swell of his mate's middle.

"You heard the medic. Just go for it, get 'em out."

Swindle screamed and gave the next push his all. For a moment he felt like he might rip between the legs, and then the pain eased for a moment. Lockdown had pulled back, looking at him with shock. The medic was cleaning off a little green and purple mechling, the tiny creation squalling.

"He's got more coming. Hold this mechling, please."

Lockdown took the sparkling, awkwardly cradling him. The tiny thing squeaked, staring at him with huge purple optics. Lockdown grunted and looked away, trying to pretend he wasn't being gawked at by a sparkling. It was strange...

Swindle didn't know how he did it, but he finished at last and the pain stopped. It was a bit of a blur, but now that it was over, he was content to rest and try to realize it was over and there wouldn't be any more agony. Lockdown was sitting beside him on the berth after he'd paid the medic, struggling to hold six sparklings.

"How'd you pop six of them out? You're small..." Lockdown grunted, glancing over at Swindle as the mech rolled over onto his side and motioned for the mechlings.

"No idea. But it happened. So hand them over so they can feed."

Lockdown did as he was told, admiring the little things as he moved them from his arms to Swindle. The first was the purple and green mechling, the next a green and black one like himself, then a white and tan, then a purple and tan like Swindle, then a tan and black, and finally the runt of the litter, a tricolor purple, green, and tan mechling. They were all either jeeps or a version of Lockdown's muscle car alt.

"Gotta say, they do have a bit of cuteness to them."

"Would have been a lot cuter if we'd had two or three. Six is a lot to care for and it'll cost us! You know how expenses pile up..."

"It's fine, we can manage it," Lockdown mumbled, helping each of their young find a fuel line alone Swindle's middle.

Swindle grunted at the new feeling but didn't seem to mind too much as the sparklings nursed, suckling quietly. He purred when his mate stole a quick kiss, a smirk on his rugged faceplate. Swindle wrapped his arms around his companion's neck and tugged him back down for a more passionate exchange, glad for this kind of connection with another bot. They would still be scammers and rip off artists, but they could afford to care for and love some sparklings.

***

Blast Off lounged on their deck overlooking the crystal forest of New Vos, a data pad in hand as he watched the sunset. It was blood red and vibrant, the colors melded together like spilled paints. It was peaceful and made his spark flutter with the realization that this was his life and he would never have to fight or hide again.

"Would you like to eat third fuel out here?" Skyfire's voice called, the other shuttle peering out at his mate. Blast Off's chunky shuttle wings flicked at the idea before he turned around in his lounge chair and made optic contact.

"That would be pleasant. The sunset it worth seeing."

Skyfire appeared again after some noise from inside their apartment, the mech soon emerging with two bowls of gelled energon cubelets mixed with thallium and dusted with gold shavings. Blast Off gave Skyfire a kiss in thanks and took his portion, glad he no longer had to slide back a face mask to eat. He hardly wore it anymore, the thing just a reminder of a war he wished had never happened.

"You are right, the sunset is quite good. Although I must say I enjoy when the moons show."

"Yes, I know how you enjoy the lunar cycle. You have made that quite clear," Blast Off growled with an impish glimmer to his optics. Their lunar cycles tended to be full of lovemaking or some other togetherness activity.

Skyfire grinned before he took a few more bites of his food and leaned back against his own lounge chair. It was nice to share these moments with someone you loved and trusted. Not only that, but it made his spark feel so much lighter when he realized how far Blast Off had come. From being an aloof, guarded mech to one who was so willing to be a companion and intelligent lover...it was wonderful!

Both shuttles finished their fuel and took the bowls inside their upscale apartment, cleaning them off before they went on to the next activity. Blast Off's wings twitched when he felt a hand slide between his legs and give his valve panel a gentle rub while Skyfire wrapped an arm carefully around his mate's middle.

"Want to try it outside? We can couple under the sun and moons!" Skyfire offered, leading Blast Off out.

"We may," Blast Off replied, allowing himself to be tugged outside and settled on one of the padded chairs.

Skyfire carefully got on top of him while Blast Off shifted around on hands and knees, getting himself in a good position before he slid his valve cover back and gave the green light to his mate. Skyfire purred, spike already free as he draped himself on top of the purple and brown frame.

"How do you feel?"

"Heavier than usual."

"But it isn't hurting you? Or them?"

"No, no. All is well. We're fine."

Skyfire slid himself between valve folds and started gentle thrusts, going easy on his mate. A white hand reached up and caressed the growing swell in Blast Off's middle, the bot already a few deca cycles along into his first carrying cycle. The tricolor shuttle smiled and rubbed the area, already imagining the little family they would soon have.

***

Brawl came home to a place he never thought he would live, the mech walking into an upscale apartment over First Aid and Ratchet's med bay in New Iacon. He was greeted after a long day of labor by a sweet red and white medic, First Aid's spark even more thrilled than his expression could show.

"Brawl! How was your day"?

"Fine. But it's getting better," Brawl rumbled, padding over to his companion and grabbing him up in a hug. He slung First Aid with ease over his tank tread shoulder and lumbered of the berthroom, the younger medic laughing the whole way. He was not so shy anymore when around his bondmate, knowing it was all in good fun.

The tank placed First Aid on the berth and rolled into the plush blankets after, playfully growling as he and First Aid wrestled with each other. The medic had done a great deal of research on Brawl's type and understood they needed some roughhousing in order to be happy. It was a part of their programming to fight and show dominance, so he felt okay with allowing the play fights.

"I'm glad you're back, Brawl."

"Same here. How was your day, huh?"

"It was quite exciting! Ratchet had to preform a triple fuel pump line bypass and it was quite nerve wracking! The poor femme is recovering, but it was quite a scare. Then there was another patient who had an awful corroded wound that never got fixed and it was making him sick. He's on an IV drip but should be good to go home tomorrow," First Aid said, chattering about his solar cycle. Brawl enjoyed it, the big tank nuzzling at his cheek once he finished.

Brawl made a confused sound when he was pushed over onto his back and examined by the medic, First Aid's optics keen and able to pick out even the smallest issues. The tank growled and rolled onto his side just as First Aid found the rust spot.

"Oh, dear! You have rust, Brawl! Let me fix it!"

"Nah, I'm good. Don't mess with it, it'll go away on its own."

"Brawl, do not play this game with me! You need to be repaired!" First Aid insisted, forcing the unruly tank down onto the berth again as he started to apply a solution of Coro-Stop on the affected area. It stung, but Brawl didn't fight too much since there was no point in doing such a thing.

"What would you do without me, Brawl? You'd fall apart!"

"Probably would, actually. I'm glad you're here."

Brawl captured First Aid in a warm embrace when the bot finished fussing over his little rust spot, tucking him up against his chest plates. This was the life he had wanted but never knew he could have. Sure, having his mate worry about the little thing could get on his nerves, but it was all out of love-exactly how it should be.

***

"Vortex, you have to quit doing this. Where are you?!" Ratchet called when he finished a hard solar cycle of work and came back to an apparently empty room. Vortex had been playing 'hide and seek' a great deal recently and right then it was not cute, but annoying. "Vortex! Come out here!"

The red and white mech heard something from the wash rack and vented. So that was where the strange helicopter had decided to hide this time. He padded into the room and was shocked to find it was all decked out, oil candles lit and the large tub full of steaming hot oil and scented with Ratchet's favorite cleanser.

"Vortex, what is all this?" Ratchet asked, raising an optical ridge. This was a classic Vortex move. He could be so strange and yet so wonderful all at the same time.

"This is all for you! The bond was unhappy so I fixed up a nice bath!" Vortex explained, smiling brightly. He didn't have his face mask hiding his mouth and nose, so he was quite expressive, which brought a smile to the tired medic's lips.

"You're an angel and a devil, Vortex. I love you for it."

Ratchet got into the tub first and barked a laugh when a happy helicopter went splashing in after him, Vortex soon cuddled up in his lap. Slate gray and teal plating was all the medic could see as Vortex draped himself over him, purring in his engine while his rotor blades were pet.

"I love you," Ratchet murmured into Vortex's audio receptor, the mech nuzzling under Ratchet's chin.

"I love you, too. I want you to feel better. You fix everyone, but who fixes you?"

"Good question. But I know the answer," Ratchet snickered, rubbing Vortex's sides in a playful way. The other mech churred softly, almost like a Seeker would. Aerials were fascinating in the way they made such vocalizations.

Ratchet leaned back and let Vortex bathe him, washing away the energon and grime from a hard days work. It felt like heaven, Ratchet's optics dulled as he contentedly rumbled. Vortex might have claws, but he knew how to keep them from hurting his companion. Across their spark bond Vortex also tried to soothe Ratchet, insisting he was fine and would feel good when the bath was done.

"Come here, you."

Vortex grunted when he found himself being hugged, his arms returning the gesture right away. Hooking his claws into Ratchet's back plating for a good grip, he snuggled in and held onto his best friend. He'd thought no one would ever love him like this, but Ratchet had proven him wrong and he was thankful for it.

***  
That lunar cycle the Combaticons found true peace. Onslaught tucked in Detonate with Warpath at his side before retiring to the berth, Lockdown curled protectively around Swindle and their six sparklings as they drifted off to recharge, Blast Off held Skyfire in a warm embrace after they settled into the berth, Brawl snored loudly while First Aid drowsily told him to hush, and Vortex stayed with Ratchet in the tub until the oil grew cold.

Everytjng was right with the world for the bots who had been so sure Primus had forgotten them. They had found something trustworthy in another and opened themselves to the care of a fellow Cybertronian. No matter their past, they were now safe and sound beside the ones they cared for most.

Their war was over at last.


End file.
